The Shocking Affair of the Dutch Steamship Friesland
by Jaelijn
Summary: A criminal syndicate is threatening the fragile peace between Britain and the Netherlands. Unable to uncover anything in London, Holmes and Watson are forced to board the steamship Friesland in a desperate effort to stop them. Soon, they are caught up in a dangerous muddle of friends and foes, which might very well cost them their lives, and plunge two countries into war...
1. A Case Presents Itself

**A/N:** So, here it is, my take on the probably most famous of Watson's "lost" cases. Those following me on livejournal will have seen it already, but I finally decided to post it here as well. I will be posting chapters regularly, and am looking forward to hearing your reactions. :) And now, without further ado, I give you:

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**The Shocking Affair of the Dutch Steamship Friesland**

an unpublished account by Dr John H. Watson

by Jaelijn

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I. A Case Presents Itself

Of the numerous cases in which my friend Mr Sherlock Holmes was involved, there are a great number which I have never chronicled. Often, it was because they held little interest to anyone but the criminal expert, or because they were so unremarkable in their features that it seemed inappropriate to include them in these collections of most singular affairs. Some, however, I have been forced to withhold because they were so delicate of nature that they had to be handled with the utmost secrecy.

One of these cases I am only now able to reveal is the shocking affair of the Dutch steamship _Friesland_, of which I have previously spoken in the affair recorded as _The Norwood Builder_. At that time, the political uproar with which this case was concerned was too intimately associated with foreign politics to be safely revealed to the public without distorting the facts. However, now that the officials associated with the affair have passed on, and the public focus has very much changed in the wake of the Great War, Holmes and I agree that it is safe to recount for the first time what transpired on board of the steamer _Friesland_.

It was not long after Holmes's return to London, a gloomy Wednesday, as I remember, when the case was brought before us. While Holmes had taken every precaution to keep his return a secret from the press and forbidden me to publish any account of his apparent resurrection, shunning the fame that he had once sought, the word of his return had spread through our fair city, and, dare I say, beyond. I had no doubt that the fact that the windows of 221B Baker Street were once again brightly lit had something to do with the matter.

As for myself, Holmes had asked me to return to Baker Street with him, selling my house and Kensington practice to become once again his chronicler, even though he entreated me in the most stringent terms not to publish any of the accounts I wrote up. Naturally, I enquired how I should possibly pay my part of the rent if all the paid work I was to do was stepping in if one of my colleagues were to fall ill, but Holmes seemed unconcerned. He convinced me that the proceeds I would gain by selling my practice would be enough to sustain me for some time. I learned later that I, too, received quite generous monthly payments from an anonymous source, whom I could only assume to be Holmes himself – more than enough to pay my share of the rent.

As I have reported elsewhere, I was, with a little diplomacy on Holmes's part, able to sell my practice to a more than satisfying price, but at the time of this case, I was still living at the house that now held hardly anything other than the memory of my own sad bereavement and the three years of grieving for my friend. Unwilling to remain in the decidedly depressing lodgings any longer than decency required, it was often that I would spend many long hours in our old flat, once more enjoying the company of my dear friend.

Often, we would merely go about our own business in the companionable silence that befits two men who know each other so well as Holmes and I, but sometimes – and such an occasion was that day – we would sit by the fireplace and talk about whatever topic was on our minds.

That morning, Holmes had given his violin the most careful polish, and was now idly plucking the strings. "I have often wished I had taken the instrument with me on my travels, Watson, but it was hardly practical. My life was so erratic that it would likely have been destroyed. In fact, I lost all my belongings in a snowdrift in the Himalayas, and had to impose upon the generosity of the Tibetan monks."

"Couldn't you have bought a violin in the East? Surely, in India you would have found such an instrument, if not of the same quality as your own."

Holmes chuckled humorously. "I doubt it would have amused anyone but myself. No, it is for the best that only upon my return to London I should be reunited with the things I hold dearest. Hello, what's that?"

A quite energetic jingle sounded from our doorbell. Holmes jumped up from his seat and walked to the window, glancing out onto the street. "A telegram, I should think. Curious that the boy should ring so agitatedly. Mrs Hudson has asked him in – well, we shall see what causes such a young fellow to be so very disturbed."

There was a curt knock at our door, and Holmes bid the person enter. It was indeed a young messenger boy, tightly gripping a single telegram. His eyes darted from myself to Holmes and it was clear to me that the boy must have run a great way to be as out of breath as he was.

Holmes had lain down his violin in its case perched on the windowsill and now stood before the boy, hands clasped behind his back. "Now, compose yourself, young friend. What brings you here?"

"Telegram for Mr Sherlock Holmes, sir," the boy said between gasps for breath. "I was told to deliver it as speedily as possible and only to the hands of Mr Holmes himself. Are you he, sir?"

"I am." Holmes accepted the telegram and handed the boy a coin for his troubles before turning away to open the missive.

"Much obliged, sir," the boy said and left, his small feet clattering on the steps before we could hear the distinct sound of our front door closing.

"What is it, Holmes? A case?"

"Brother Mycroft. He wishes to engage my services in a matter so delicate that he does not dare to reveal anything in this telegram. How very curious." Holmes fell silent, his keen eyes intently fixed on the missive, his lips pressed together. I knew from this expression that he was deep in thought and dared not interrupt him. After a while, he folded the telegram and placed it in his pocket before turning to me. "I will go down to Whitehall immediately. Would you care to accompany me, Watson?"

"Certainly!"

Soon, we were seated side by side in a cab speeding to Whitehall. I had no doubt that it was an urgent matter indeed if Mycroft Holmes had chosen to call upon his brother from his offices rather than from his club, where he seemed to spend most of his time.

Holmes seemed to share my view, for he had lapsed into a brooding mood, reading and re-reading the telegram as if its meagre contents could hold information that had gone unnoticed when he had first received it.

When the cab rolled to a stop, however, he put the missive away with a frustrated sigh. "There is nothing for it. We shall have to wait and hear what brother mine has to say."

To my surprise, Holmes seemed to know his way around the governmental buildings with the same ease he navigated the most unfriendly areas of our fair city. To my knowledge, he had never before been called to Whitehall on a case – governmental officials often preferred the anonymity of coming to Baker Street – however, I assumed that he had visited his brother in his office on several occasions which had remained unnoticed by me.

Indeed, Holmes seemed to be known to the guards, which allowed him to pass unchallenged. Quickly we found ourselves in the ante-room of one of the offices, where we were welcomed by a middle-aged, well-dressed gentleman. His back was slightly bent from long hours of writing, and indeed there were several smudges of ink on his shirt-cuff, but he bore himself proudly and confidently. "Mr Holmes, good to see you. And Dr Watson, I presume."

"Quite", said my companion, "Watson, this is Mr Harding, who has been working with my brother on several occasions."

"I have had the honour, indeed." Harding shook hands with me, and then turned back to Holmes. "Mr Holmes, your brother has been called away on urgent business, but he has asked me to await you and hand you this envelope. I have been told it contains all the information you will need. Unfortunately, your brother has been pressed for time of late – if there is anything else you should require, you would do best to forward your requests to me."

"You have been told of this affair, then?"

"Not a word, Doctor. If there is a crucial matter you wish to discuss with Mycroft Holmes, I suggest you send a telegram, and I will see what can be done. I am sure, Mr Holmes, you understand that the affair has to be handled delicately and with the utmost secrecy."

Holmes accepted the large, brown envelope with a nod. "I will look into it. Good-day, Mr Harding."

Naturally, my curiosity regarding the contents of the envelope was piqued, however, Holmes stowed it away under his coat, where it could not be noticed by anyone who might cross our path, and showed no intention of even taking a closer look at it ere we arrived at Baker Street. His eyes, however, were gleaming, and he had the energetic air about him that came always over him at the beginning of a new case.

At Baker Street, he rushed ahead of me, bounding up the stairs to our sitting room while at the same time removing the envelope from its hiding place. When I had followed him, he was engaged in drawing the blinds, although it was still early.

"Turn up the gas, Watson, if you'd be so kind. Excellent! Now, let's see what brother Mycroft has in store for us." He fetched the jackknife from the mantle and slid the envelope open, taking great care not to disturb the contents. Then, he carefully removed a stack of papers of various sizes and quality from it, spreading them out on the floor before the hearth, where the light was brightest.

"Well, what do you make of that?"

I glanced at the papers. "A most curious assortment. This seems to be a map of the sea – the Atlantic, if I'm not much mistaken, with red markings on it. This line seems to be a shipping route – and here an island is marked."

"Yes, quite. This is the island of Curaçao, a dependency of the Netherlands, which has only thirty years ago gained a certain degree of independence."

"And these – travelling tickets! The Dutch steamship _Friesland_, scheduled to arrive in London to-morrow, and to depart for Curaçao in a fortnight."

"Yes, very interesting. This seems to be a letter from my brother, shall we see what he has to tell us about the matter?"

Holmes picked up the two remaining papers, and read them in silence, occasionally murmuring to himself. Seeing my curiosity, he then read the letter out to me.

"My dear Sherlock,

I would have preferred to speak to you about this affair in person, as it is a most delicate matter, but current political affairs in our own country leave me with little time and even less patience. I hope Mr Harding carried out my instructions to the letter and you are now in possession of this letter and the included papers, as well as being aware of the delicacy with which they must be handled.

You know, I am sure, that Curaçao was a former British colony, which explains our interest in the matter. Naturally, our government has not taken it kindly that the Dutch have established a stable rule there after the Napoleonic Wars. However, the few that remember that transition and are still alive have long passed beyond political influence, and I dare say that our relationship with the Netherlands is an amiable one, highlighted by sea trade and our permission for Dutch vessels to use our ports to buy provisions.

Still, there are those that presume that the loss of those Caribbean isles was a heavy one for the Empire, and that Curaçao could be of equal importance to us as India (which, frankly, is politically nonsense). In 1863, slavery was abolished by the Dutch, and around the same time, Curaçao was given certain rights of government. It is questionable if that abolition is followed diligently, but at the very least the isle is no longer involved in slave trade.

It has reached our attention, however, that a syndicate of politically motivated criminals have taken it upon themselves to implicate the Curaçao government of slave trading, which would doubtlessly worsen the relationships with the Netherlands, and then, in turn, present an opportunity for British forces to advance upon the weakened Curaçao. I do not know how influential those men are in political circles, but there is no doubt that our Colonial Office would very much like to see another jewel in the crown of the Empire, and you know well how easily the human mind can be twisted and manipulated. Should we attempt to seize Curaçao, our relationship with the Netherlands would come to an end, and we would be facing possible war. Also, a war between the Netherlands and Great Britain would destabilize the political balance of all Europe, if not the world. It is in all our interests if that were prevented.

I therefore ask you to look into the matter and stop those men ere the damage can be done. I have no doubt that they operate from passenger vessels that travel to Curaçao via London – that is the reason why I have found you and Dr Watson a place on the next vessel, the steamer _Friesland_.

I trust that you will be able to resolve the matter.

Yours,

Mycroft"

Holmes lowered the papers and rose to fetch his pipe. Lighting it, he looked at me. "Well, what do you think of the affair, Watson?"

"If war is the possible outcome, you have to do your utmost to prevent it! Also, think of the unfortunate men involved in a slave trade."

Holmes hummed, biting the stem of his pipe. "There is the possibility that they are associated with the crime syndicate, but you are correct. Those criminals have to be stopped before they can cause any damage. It is a very dangerous and complicated affair, and we best approach it with caution. But, it is a fortnight before the _Friesland _departs, and maybe that time will suffice to discover the identity of our culprits, and put an end to their endeavour."

"But what of the tickets? Surely your brother doesn't expect us to travel to Curaçao! It's a month's journey."

"If we cannot stop those men in time, there will be not choice but to board the ship. You know me well enough, Watson, to understand that I cannot allow a criminal to escape, especially not after Mycroft has nearly done all the work for us. No, Watson, if needs be, I will be a passenger on that steamer, although I understand if you are unwilling to accompany me."

"I shan't abandon you, Holmes!"

"Then all is settled. I will go down to the docks to-morrow. Until then, Watson, let's spend the evening with something more pleasurable than colonies and ships."


	2. The Friesland

**II. The _Friesland_**

When I came down to the sitting room in the morning, Holmes had already departed. It came as no surprise to me. Sherlock Holmes had the habit of keeping early hours whenever he worked on a case.

Thus, I endeavoured to busy myself with the papers Mycroft Holmes had gathered for us, hoping that I might discover a clue to the case. To my eye, however, there was nothing more to be gathered than the obvious facts we had already discussed the previous evening.

I wondered if perhaps Holmes had seen more, being familiar with his brother's ways, and certainly of greater knowledge on such matters than I.

It was nearly mid-day when Holmes returned, dressed in a sailor's clothes and looking for all the world like an experienced seafarer. However, as he stepped into our sitting room, he changed swiftly back into his own self, straightening and, dropping the sailor's walk, strode over to the mantle to fetch a cigarette. "I can see you are eager to hear what I have been able to discover, Watson." He smiled enigmatically, running a hand through his hair to smooth it.

"Well, I fear the morning was less productive than I had hoped. I hoped to discover details at the harbour magistrate, but the officials were very reluctant to share their information, assuring me that the _Friesland _did not hire sailors, much less of British origin. I replied that I spoke their language fluently, but there was nothing more they would tell me as to the crew and previous stops of our steamship.

"I then went to a nearby tavern – as I have already mentioned to you, there is no better place to listen to local gossip. However, nothing was to be heard about the _Friesland_. It is almost as if the ship did not exist, or as if the mere knowledge of it were a secret. Now, there is no doubt in my mind that we have to proceed with extreme caution, Watson. It is quite possible that some members of the magistrate are involved in the affair, or have been coerced into silence. If either is the case, I might have committed a irreversible blunder in asking for information. It is a good thing that I did not go there in my own person."

"What will you do now?"

"I shall call upon my brother, perhaps he can supply me with a full list of crew and passengers of the _Friesland_ to this date. It should be quite enlightening to see who will board the ship in London. Now, as it is a ship that carries both passengers and cargo, I have no doubt that among these there will be a good number of innocents, and I have also considered the possibility that our entire syndicate already resides in Curaçao, which would leave us with no other possibility than to make the entire journey and assure the criminals' arrest on the isle, or the return journey."

"You assume they will bring the slaves on board in Curaçao, and then implicate the government when they are discovered?"

"Yes, that is precisely how they will proceed. I don't doubt for one moment that they do have an associate who is even now on the isle and preparing for their arrival; however, it seems unlikely that the entire syndicate is there. I have been able to gather that this is the _Friesland_'s first ocean-going journey, and since our criminals are of British origin, it is very likely that they have never before visited the ship. If that were the case, they will not miss the opportunity to spend an entire month on it without raising suspicion, which gives them ample time to prepare. I fear, however, Watson, that we will have no choice but to accompany them on their journey, which makes is all the more important that I talk to my brother."

"How so?"

"Mycroft despises fieldwork too much to actually make the journey himself, but he might be able to supply us with a letter that will assure us the cooperation of the Curaçao government and police. Also, he will see to it that there is always a British ship close-by – there is the possibility that the situation on board might become critical."

Holmes despatched a telegram to his brother, and then sat down to brood for a long while over the map of the ship's route his brother had given to him. After some time, there was the jingle of our bell, and Holmes went down himself to receive the telegram. "It is truly an interesting matter, Watson. If one is to believe Mycroft, the steamer is currently without passengers but for the crew, who, without exception, are all Dutch. Apparently, the only passengers will board in London, or at one of the following stops. As for my other requests, Mycroft will see to them. Now, Watson we should best engage in the intensive practice of the Dutch language and, if we find the time, the one native to Curaçao, even though we should be well equipped with our English once we reach the island. I wish, however, to keep our identity a secret, and it would be best to be as fluent in Dutch as possible, as not to arouse suspicion."

It was thus that, after a fortnight, Holmes and I found ourselves on the London dock, valises in hand and ready to depart on what promised to be a very interesting journey.

As far as I had been able to gather, Holmes had discovered little more of interest in the past days, although he had been able to obtain a full list of the passengers who were to depart with us. I had no doubt that he must have reached some conclusions due to that information, but he did not share his thoughts with me.

Instead, he had insisted that it was of the greatest importance that I should be able to lead a casual conversation in the Dutch language without appearing to struggle with it. For that purpose, we had spent several hours each day conversing in Dutch, in which Sherlock Holmes was already fluent, much to the astonishment of Mrs Hudson and the people who passed us by on our walks.

Holmes had given careful instructions ere we departed from Baker Street.

"Now, Watson, it is imperative that our true identity should remain a secret lest we put ourselves in danger. We will therefore state that we are business associates, travelling to Curaçao to buy land. I shall appear as the Dutch gentleman Mr Stefan Sipkens, while you are my British colleague, James Wilson. This will allow you to speak English whenever your Dutch doesn't suffice. However, we should take great care that we do not speak English to each other in the presence of others, as it is unlikely that a Dutch business man should be very fluent in our language."

There were several passengers already boarding when we arrived at the ship. The _Friesland _was quite an impressive vessel, much larger than the steamers that usually travelled on the Thames. Its full name, _SS Friesland_, was written in proud letters on its starboard side. Altogether, it promised to be a fascinating journey, and there was nothing to herald the sinister events we had set out to investigate.

When we arrived at the boarding bridge, there were a young couple and a second gentleman before us. The couple was clearly British, and I should have assumed that they wished to board the cruise for a holiday rather than for business, as they were both in the best of spirits. The lady was clinging onto her husband's arm and chattering away at considerable speed, while he occasionally broke out into roaring laughter at what she was telling him. Both were well-dressed at the height of London fashion, and coupled with the fact that they apparently had no difficulties to afford the tickets and at least two months of holiday, they seemed to be well-to-do.

The second man seemed to be travelling alone. He wore clothes of lesser quality and was of a slightly darker complexion. His black hair was untamed and obscured his deep-set eyes almost completely from view, highlighting a short, stubby nose. He carried only a small bag, and seemed to be quite annoyed at the couple's behaviour. He did not, however, engage anyone in conversation, and even acknowledge the sailor checking our tickets with nothing but a harsh grunt.

Holmes and I were met with a smile as Holmes showed the sailor our tickets, perhaps because Holmes had greeted the man in Dutch.

They exchanged some sentences of which I understood very little, my vocabulary being limited after only two weeks of practice, but to my surprise, the sailor turned to me also.

"I told Mr Sipkens, your cabin is on port," he said in English, his accent very thick. "We hope you will enjoy the journey."

"Thank you," I replied and then hurried after Holmes, who had already strode onto the deck, where he stood waiting for me.

"What did you tell him?" I asked in a whisper.

Holmes shook his head, indicating that he would not speak to me about it as long as others could hear us. "We should go to our cabin," said he, his otherwise perfect English tinged with the very same accent as the sailor's. Had I not know that it was a fake, I could well have believed that Holmes was indeed Dutch.

Together, we descended into the bowl of the ship. It was quite impressive, and appeared even larger than it had from the outside. I had no doubt that the steamer could easily accommodate a hundred passengers as well as the crew. If such a large number of persons were to board the steamer, it would become very difficult for Holmes and I to discover and identify the members of the crime syndicate without betraying ourselves. Furthermore, there was also the possibility that none of the syndicate were on board, even though Holmes seemed to think it unlikely.

We passed a small general room with windows, where the British couple was already sitting, and a hallway which no doubt led to the dining area.

Our cabin was a small one with a bunk bed and only one porthole, which now presented a view of the Thames. We stowed our valises in the compartments designed for that purpose and left our cabin without unpacking to witness the departure.

The British couple joined us as we climbed the staircase to the deck. The husband offered me his hand. "We are Mr and Mrs Henry Russell. It is a pleasure to meet you."

"The pleasure is mine, I am sure," said I. "I am James Wilson, and this is my friend and colleague, Stefan Sipkens. Unfortunately, he speaks little English, even though he understands our language well enough."

Holmes shook hands with the couple without saying a word.

"You are Dutch, then, Mr Sipkens?" Mrs Russell asked.

"Yes," Holmes replied, smiling sweetly.

"We are travelling to Curaçao for business – we have received a missive from a Dutchman residing there, who made us a very lucrative offer," I explained as we stepped to the railing to look over across the Thames to the opposite riverbank. A few children had gathered there to watch the ships departure and waved at us.

Mrs Russell, as cheerful as before, waved back at them, while her husband stood by her side. His arm lay around her waist protectively.

"We are travelling for the pleasure. We have never done a sea cruise, and Charlotte has Dutch ancestors who now live in Curaçao and have long since invited us for a visit," said he.

I noticed that Holmes was watching the couple attentively, no doubt reading much that was hidden to me from their behaviour and manner alone, rather than their words. In Dutch, he quietly remarked to me: "What he says is not entirely true. His wife may think so, but he would never undertake a pointless journey. No, my dear fellow, he is a business man, and something of that sort awaits him in Curaçao."

Henry Russell looked at me in puzzlement.

"Mr Sipkens says he has travelled to the East before, but this is his first journey to Curaçao also." I was relieved that there was no one of the crew around to notice my lie.

"We have taken a journey on the Orient Express last year," Mrs Russell chimed in. "It was a very enlightening experience."

"I'm sure," Holmes replied in the same language.

Several more passengers gathered on deck as the steamer set about to depart, but there were by no means as many as I had feared. A cloud of steam was rising above the chimneys, and with a small jolt, the _Friesland _picked up speed and had soon left London behind.

For a short while, we remained on deck. Holmes was leaning against the railing casually, but, knowing him so well, I could see his eyes dart from one of our fellow travellers to the other even though his face remained expressionless.

I, for one, was grateful for the pleasant weather and the sunshine, promising a quiet sea. I had never before travelled on an ocean-going ship, and as long as I had been acquainted with Holmes, neither had he. However, from the ease with which he had accepted the length of the journey, I gathered that he had had previous experiences on that matter, or had at least gathered quite some knowledge on the subject. As for myself, I had to admit that, having resigned myself to spending quite some time on the _Friesland_, I found the experience to be an exciting and pleasurable one.


	3. The Passengers

**A/N: **Here we go, the story is finally picking up speed as we see more of the passengers. Hope you have enjoyed it so far and will keep reading!

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**III. The Passengers**

After some time, the travellers began to return to the ship's interior, whether it be the general room or their own quarters, and Holmes indicated me to do the same.

I assumed Holmes would like to settle into the general room, where he would have the opportunity of observing our companions on close quarters. However, he returned to our cabin without hesitation, and having locked the door behind him, turned to me.

"Well, Watson, what do you think of our fellow passengers?"

"I know too little about them to give you an opinion. So far, only the Russells have introduced themselves, and even though you doubt Mr Russell's motives for the journey, they seem to be a charming and friendly couple. As for the others, I can only say that the fellow boarding before us seemed to be decidedly unfriendly. You don't suppose he is our criminal?"

"As you say, it is too early to draw conclusions, but as of now, unfriendliness is not enough reason for suspicion. I also doubt that the syndicate would send only one person on such an important mission. You asked before what I had said to the sailor who welcomed us – I enquired whether there were any passengers that had come on short notice: There were none; in fact, he told me that a small group of six gentleman had cancelled. This, fortunately, leaves us only the twenty people whose names Mycroft supplied me with, minus the six and ourselves."

"It's twelve altogether then."

"Quite correct. Twelve are fewer than I had feared, and I plan on making good use of that fact."

"Shall we dine, then? Perhaps we could meet more of our companions there."

"Yes, Watson, you should go and have dinner. I shall remain here – there are some things I have to think about, and I shall best do that alone. Try to gather as much information as you possibly can without appearing intrusive – especially as to the motive of their travels. And remember to keep our identity secret."

I took a moment to unpack the necessities and then departed, leaving Holmes behind where he sat on the lower bed, lost in thought.

The dining room seemed curiously empty, having been designed for hundred people and occupied by only eleven. I could see the Russells, seated at a round table and immersed in conversation with two women I had not previously noticed.

The sullen-faced fellow I had thought so unfriendly was dining alone in one corner of the room. Then there were three men, conversing loudly and amiably over some wine.

The remaining two were another couple who seemed uncomfortable in the presence of the other passengers, and occupied a table as far from the others as it was possible, their conversation hushed and subdued. Both of them seemed to be among the oldest people in the room.

"Mr Wilson!" Mrs Russell waved at me.

I joined them at their table.

"Won't you join us for dinner? Those are Ms Susan Farington and her companion, Mrs Charles."

"How do you do?"

We shook hands, and I sat down beside Mr Russell, who readily poured me a glass of wine. "Where is your Dutch companion, Mr Wilson?"

"He is feeling unwell, and apologizes for not being able to come. I am afraid trying to understand a foreign language requires a great deal of concentration, and he tires easily." Holmes had once remarked that I had no gift for acting. I could but hope that, for once, my friend was wrong, and I would pass as believable. Either of these people could belong to the criminal syndicate we had come to investigate, and hearing that Mr Sherlock Holmes and his companion Dr Watson were aboard the _Friesland _would put ourselves and every other passenger in danger.

"I hear you are travelling to Curaçao on business, Mr Wilson," said Ms Farington. She was a petite woman, her hair extraordinarily thin and of a pale blond. Her face was covered in freckles, and there was a mischievous sparkle in her blue eyes.

"Yes, indeed. And you?"

"Oh, my fiancé has been retained in Calabar on business, and I travel to join him. The _Friesland _makes a stop there before she travels on to Curaçao. Audrey here has offered to accompany me, as it is unseemly for a lady to travel alone."

"So it is, Madame," agreed her companion. She had a deep, rumbling voice and a withered face, although she seemed to be a good many years younger than Holmes or I. Her hair was bound to a tight knot at the back of her head, and she kept her lids downcast, facing no one but Ms Farington outright.

"Have you been introduced to our fellow travellers yet, Mr Wilson?" asked Mrs Russell.

"No, I have not. Mr Sipkens is a rather solitary fellow, and aside from your good selves, we did not speak to any of the others."  
Mr Russell smiled. "It is as well, Mr Wilson. I am afraid our ladies here do love a good piece of gossip."

"I do not mind. I would very much like to learn more about the people with whom I will share such close quarters for a month." It would have been foolish indeed to decline such an offer of information. Gossip it might be, and the truth of it questionable, but I had no doubt that Holmes would find something of use in the information.

"Well, of that sullen fellow in the corner, we know nothing but his name – he is Mr Charles Peterson. The couple over there, the Fones', are returning to Curaçao – they were on holiday in London. As far as I can gather, they are Dutch. And the three gentlemen over there – two brothers, Paul and John Mason, and a colleague, Mr Carter – travel all the way to Curaçao as well, for business, I think."

"Madame, we should retire." Audrey Charles placed a hand firmly on the arm of her protégé.

"Nonsense, Audrey! I think I shall enjoy this wonderful company for a while yet. I have had a lengthy conversation with Mr Carter, Mr Wilson – if you like, I can introduce you, seeing that you are without a companion for the evening."

"Madame..."  
"No. There is nothing wrong in having a good time. If you wish to return to our cabin, please do so. I am certain that no harm will come to me in this charming company."

"We will all make sure of that, Mrs Charles," said Mr Russell.

Mrs Charles huffed. "Good-night, Madam."

"Good-night, Audrey." Ms Farington watched her companion go and then turned to us with an apologetic smile. "You must forgive my good Audrey. She is very protective of me, and doesn't like it when I go out alone, lest of all in the company of men other than my fiancé. Are you married, Mr Wilson?"

I must confess, the question caused me to flinch. With Holmes, I had hardly spoken of my bereavement – and indeed, after two years and Holmes's return, which had been such a surprise and joy, the wound had healed somewhat, but I still felt uncomfortable talking about the subject. "I was, Ms Farington, but my wife died in childbirth more than two years ago."

"Oh, how tragic! Did the child..."

"No. It was too early."

"I am very sorry, Mr Wilson. Had I known, I would never have asked."

"You have nothing to apologize for, Ms Farington."

"You are very kind, sir. Well, shall we go and talk to Mr Carter?"  
"With pleasure."

As I was introduced, I could see why the ladies had been so fascinated by Mr Carter. He was a thoroughly agreeable gentleman, his manner and expression of such elegance that I could not help but wonder whether it was merely a remarkable act. He was of modest, if neat appearance, his hair slicked back against his scalp, his chin clean-shaven. His eyes were rather small, but he had a habit of smiling so brightly that they appeared to be much larger. Most remarkable, however, was his openness towards others, which inspired trust.

After dinner, he parted from his two travelling companions to join us in the general room, and I found that I had to be on my guard lest I said something which might compromise Holmes's and my disguise. We a had a pleasant evening of amiable and lively conversation, during which I learned nothing which seemed to me to have any bearing upon the case, but which gave me an opportunity to observe my companions for any indication that they were not who they pretended to be. I had no doubt that, had Holmes been with me, he would have been more successful. I could but assume that he believed me, who was not bound by artificial obstacles to conversation, to be in a better position for social interaction.

To my surprise, however, it was late in the evening that Holmes came strolling into the general room, drawing some attention to himself by his appearance alone. His tall and lean form and imposing manner were hard to ignore, and I was determined to draw his attention to us to lessen the sudden tension that had settled over the passengers.

"Stefan! Won't you join us?"

Holmes's head snapped around at the sound of my voice, and he came over to our table, appearing as cold as if he were at Baker Street, facing one of our more irritating clients. I, who could read his mood from his manner, wondered what had rattled him so, but when he sat down on my side, his austere face was illuminated by a smile which did much to relax my companions.

"Good evening," he said, his usually smooth voice rough with a Dutch accent. "James has introduced me?"

Only then did I realise that in my effort to not call him 'Holmes', I had accidentally used his first name, albeit an alias. It might have been unusual for business associates, Holmes, however, did not seem to find anything wrong with it. I was relieved that the mind of my companion and his acting skills were so formidable that he had no difficulty in adapting to the situation my mistake had caused.

"Ah, you must be Mr Sipkens!" cried Mr Carter, his face lighting up with his extraordinary smile. He offered his hand to Holmes, who took it firmly.

"Indeed," Holmes said, his smile thin-lipped and, to my eyes, somewhat sardonic. "You would be...?"

"Mr Charles Carter, my pleasure, sir. Will you join us in our game?" He indicated the cards that lay on the table. We had just finished a game when Holmes had entered.

"Gladly." Holmes leant back in his chair, his eyes darting quickly over our group. His gaze settled on Ms Farington, who was clearly fascinated by my companion.

I have previously remarked that Holmes could be chivalrous with the ladies if it suited his ends, and I have never doubted that, even though he used to refer to me as a ladies' man, he could easily have won many a heart himself if he had desired it. To him, however, such a notion was as foreign as was any emotion that might bias his judgement.

"We have not met, I think, _Mevrouw_."

Ms Farington blushed slightly as Holmes leant over the table to kiss her hand. "My name is Susan Farington, Mr Sipkens. Why, your companion has understated your command of our language."

"He has? _Welnu_, James has a gift for understatement." Holmes's eyes sparkled as he settled back down and looked at me. Had it not been for those small signs that it was indeed Mr Sherlock Holmes sitting beside me, I would have believed he was a different man. He had hardly changed his style of dress for our journey, but for wearing a Dutch suit instead of an English one and exchanging his tie for a bow-tie; however, in his manner he seemed to be so foreign to me as if he were a stranger.

I forced myself to smile. "You cannot deny, though, that it is somewhat trying to converse in a foreign language for hours on end. Why, I know I find it difficult to follow your Dutch if we have been speaking it all day!"

While this statement would have caused Holmes to smile only slightly had we been at Baker Street, he now uttered a loud, if short bark of laughter. "You are correct, _mijn vriend_. Do we play?"

"Yes, of course." Mr Carter, who had been watching my companion intently, but not suspiciously so, began dealing the cards. "You are familiar with the rules, Mr Sipkens?"

"Yes, indeed."

I have to confess, I made no further observations of importance that evening. Holmes's presence alone seemed to have lifted the enormous weight of responsibility from my shoulders, and I could not help being distracted by Holmes's acting. During our game, he continued to charm Ms Farington, which at some time caused me to remark that she was travelling to meet with her fiancé. He, however, continued in the same vein, and I had my doubts if Ms Farington would have voiced a protest on her own behalf.

I thought it remarkable that Holmes shunned any conversation with Mr Carter, amiable as the man was. As the game progressed, Mr Carter became more and more irritated with my companion, and when Holmes did beat him, he rose and left with only a rather gruff good-night.

None of the others, however, did seem to notice.  
"You must join us again tomorrow, Mr Sipkens," said Mr Russell. He was, in fact, a rather quiet gentleman, and his wife was only slightly more talkative. They had been content to watch our game and conversation, but there had been no sign that they had not enjoyed the evening.

"Yes, indeed, if I can convince my chaperone to allow me to join you again," said Ms Farington. "I have never had such a wonderful time."

"It would be my pleasure," replied Holmes and bowed exclusively to her. In Dutch, he told me to retire with him.

I nodded. "Good-night to you all."

"Good-night."


	4. The Argument

**A/N: **I think I might settle into a weekly update schedule, either on Friday or on the weekend at the latest. You might be able to convince me to make it twice weekly! (aka R&R, please? I love feedback as much as anyone ;-))

* * *

**IV. The Argument**

As soon as the door of our cabin had closed behind us, Holmes became himself again. The transition was so complete and quick that it left me baffled.

Holmes did not seem to notice my astonishment. Instead, he settled down on his bed, a frown creasing his forehead, biting on the stem of his pipe. He was not allowed to smoke on the ship, of course, with the exception of a room of which Mr Carter had told us, designated especially for that purpose.

"What do you think of them now, Watson?" he asked in a low voice.

I sat down beside him on the bed, as there was no other space – the sole armchair in the cabin was currently occupied by both our valises. "Well, I can hardly imagine any one of them to be a criminal of such proportions. Ms Farington, for one, surely must be innocent. She will leave the _Friesland _in Calabar. And I think you have done Mr Carter a grave injustice. He is an amiable and very honest fellow, and for you to treat him thus..."

"Is that your opinion? Well, well, Watson, we shall see."  
"I wish you would inform me of the steps you intend to take. I find it difficult enough to maintain an alias in front of all those people – although that does not seem to be an effort for you. I dare not think what might happen if I am surprised."

"Yes, you are quite correct. Believe me, Watson, I will tell you ere I attempt anything dramatic. As of now – have you spoken to the other travellers, aside from Mr Carter, Ms Farington and Mr and Mrs Russell?"

"Not spoken to, no, but I have learned their names."

"Excellent! Do continue."

"The two men travelling with Mr Carter are brothers by the name of Paul and John Mason. The fellow we met upon boarding travels alone, his name is Peterson. You have heard of Ms Farington's companion – Mrs Audrey Charles. There is also another couple, apparently Dutch and living on Curaçao, by the name of Fones."

Holmes drew a paper from his coat pocket and unfolded it thoughtfully. After some moments of studying it, he handed it to me. "Remarkable."

"What is it?"  
"This is the list of passengers Mycroft supplied me with. I would have expected to find some differences as to the names or travelling companions of our fellow passengers, but it does not seem to be the case. Everyone is accounted for, and the names they have given are the same as those under which the tickets were procured."

"They could easily have used an alias, as we have."

"Ah, but Watson, we have had the assistance of brother Mycroft. If you were to walk into the harbour magistrate's office to buy a ticket, they would no doubt ask for some form of identification paper. No, we have their correct names. Now all we have to determine is who of them has given false reasons for their participation in this journey."

"Have you formed any theories?"

"It is too early for that. You must make it your goal to-morrow, Watson, to speak to the remaining travellers. If the couple are indeed Dutch, I will see to that personally, but I would much prefer if you kept on the task you have performed so faithfully to-day."

"But I have been able to discover very little!"

"Nevertheless. Make sure to leave me a note of your observations. It would perhaps be best to use some form of code – are you familiar with the Caesar cipher? Excellent! It is the most simplest of ciphers, but it should pose a bit of a difficulty for anyone who might enter our cabin. I would suggest a shift of five. If you can, make it look like nothing more than random letters, as if someone were testing a new pen."

"What will you do to-morrow?"

"I plan on putting my mind to work as well as my legs. I have to-day covered one part of the ship and hope to be progressing to the other. Also, I will talk to the crew. Perhaps it is possible to obtain access to a map of the vessel. As for now, good-night, Watson. We have a long day ahead of us."

I retired to the upper bed, allowing myself to relax with the gentle swaying of the ship. Had our objective not been so grim, I might well have enjoyed the cruise. However, the certainty that any one of the people I had spent the evening with could be a very calculating and dangerous criminal who did not hesitate to plunge two countries into war and the fact that we had to be on our guard every waking minute marred the experience. However, there was nothing sinister in the splashing of the waves against the _Friesland_, and soon, I was lulled to sleep.

It have been foolish to expect something dramatic and remarkable in our first night on the _Friesland_, but I have to confess that I was surprised when I awoke in the morning well-rested and without having been disturbed even once. Holmes, of course, was already awake, and brooding over the map of our vessel's route.

"Good morning, Watson," said he, without looking up. He had returned our valises to their compartments, making room for himself on the armchair. Now, he stretched his legs which he had folded up underneath himself. "Shall we find some breakfast for you?"

"Gladly," replied I.

We arrived at the dining room to find it almost deserted. The only other passengers present were the supposedly Dutch couple.

Holmes indicated me to settled down at a table and walked over. Mr Fones looked up in annoyance when Holmes stepped up to their table, but his faced smoothed over as soon as Holmes started talking to him in rapid Dutch.

Soon, Holmes was offered a chair, all the while talking to them in what seemed to be a very amiable conversation. I, for one, could understand very little of what was said, hindered by both distance and language, but it was clear to me that Holmes would not return to our table. I was relieved, therefore, when the Russells entered and joined me without much hesitation.

Henry's had his arm around his wife's waist again, today, however, she seemed to be in the need of his support. Her face was pale and drawn, and she had clearly tried to obscure the dark circles under her eyes, but failed. As a physician, I instantly recognised the signs of too little sleep, but as my alias had nothing whatsoever to do with the medical profession, I merely asked: "Are you unwell, Mrs Russell?"

"A little seasick, I fear," her husband replied, easing her down in a chair lovingly.

"I see. I do hope it abates before we reach the open sea."

"So do we. Tea, my dear?"

"Please." Her cheerful voice had sunken to a weak whisper. "You must forgive me, Mr Wilson. I have not slept well."

"I am truly sorry to hear it."

"We had hoped that the swaying would be less pronounced in a first class cabin in the interior of the ship, but it does not seem to be the case. If the sickness does not lessen, we will shorten our cruise and leave the ship in Calabar."

I was deeply touched by the concern Mr Russell showed for his wife. It might have been foolish to allow my personal sentiments to cloud my judgement, but I found it very difficult to accept that those two might be criminals.

After some time, Holmes left with the Dutch couple, still immersed in conversation.

I remained with the Russells until they had finished their breakfast – to my surprise, none of the other passengers came to into the dining room at that time. I found it most curious that Ms Farington should not want to join us, and Mr Russell agreed that someone should go down and enquire whether everything was all right. He kindly described to me the way to her cabin and then ascended to the deck with his wife to catch some fresh air.

When I rounded the corner to Ms Farington's first class cabin, I heard raised voices and slowed my steps. One of the voices was clearly Ms Farington's, having risen in pitch with anger. The other, much to my surprise, belonged to Mr Carter.

I could not make out what was said through the closed doors if I did not wish to be caught in spying. Instead, I decided to knock.

In an instant, the voices died down, and the door opened. Mr Carter stepped outside and walked past me without so much as a glance. His well-kept appearance had been ruffled by the argument, and there was no trace of his smile to been seen. Instead, his small eyes appeared to me to gleam sinisterly.

"I apologize, Mr Wilson", said Ms Farington, "Please, do come in."

I entered her cabin. It was much larger than Holmes' and mine. The sleeping area was obscured from view by a beautifully decorated screen, while the remaining space was equipped by three armchairs grouped around a round table. Mrs Charles seemed to be rummaging around on the separated area.

Ms Farington indicated me to take a seat. "What is it that I can do for you?" While she had seemed clearly disturbed by the argument before, she now was her old charming self.

"I did not wish to intrude."

"No, no, it was nothing. Mr Carter merely took offence in my conduct yesterday. He thinks it inappropriate for a young lady, who is engaged, to allow another man to compliment her thus. I assured him that I had no wish of abandoning my fiancé, but he suggests I bring Audrey along this evening. I think he might be a bit old fashioned." Her eyes twinkled, and I laughed.

"Well, I shall certainly warn Mr Sipkens! But I assure you, there is nothing malicious in his conduct. He will do nothing to harm your honour and relationship to your fiancé."

"I am sure of that, Mr Wilson, but thank you. Now, what brings you here?"

"Mr Russell and I were merely concerned you did not come to breakfast. I trust you are well."

"Yes, perfectly! I do enjoy the swaying of the ship."

"Well, then you are lucky, Ms Farington. I fear Mrs Russell is seasick."

"Oh, that's horrible!" Ms Farington rose. "You must forgive me, I will go to her immediately. The poor dear!"

"She went on deck with her husband – I gather that they are still there."

"Thank you, thank you, Mr Wilson, for your concern."

I departed from her cabin with my mind set at ease. When I had stumbled upon the argument, I had feared that I might have inadvertently discovered the criminals, but hearing the truth of the matter had calmed me somewhat.

Determined to find Holmes, I made my way into the general room, where I assumed him to be still engaged in conversation with the Dutch couple. However, the only person occupying that room was Mr Carter, taking large gulps from a glass of brandy.

He looked up as I entered and glared at me, his high forehead creasing in an unpleasant frown. Had I not seen him in the evening, smiling brightly and laughing with us, I would have had a very different impression of his personality based on the sour face with which he came to greet me. "You best tell you companion Mr Sipkens to keep away from Ms Farington. She is a naïve young lady and to endeavour to seduce her in such manner is no conduct fitting to a gentleman." His voice was gruff, his eyes hard and piercing.

"I will tell him," said I and allowed him to pass me, before I turned and ascended onto the ship's deck.


	5. The Mason Brothers

**V. The Mason Brothers**

Holmes was not there, nor was the Dutch couple, but I could see Ms Farington and the Russells in animated conversation. From the looks of it, Charlotte Russell was feeling the better for the fresh air, and she was laughing easily with her husband and Ms Farington.

Mrs Charles was with them, as well, but kept an respectable distance.

Close to where I stood, the two brothers were sharing a cigarette, staring out onto the sea. Remembering Holmes's instructions, I joined them.

While it was quite evident that they were related, one of them – Paul Mason, as I later learned – was slightly bulkier, his nose apparently once broken and wrongly set. The other, John Mason, bore his hair longer, and there was a tattoo on the inside of his right wrist which I could not fail to observe as he shook me by the hand.

"It is a pleasure to meet you properly, Mr Wilson. Carter has told us about you and your companion," said John. His voice was tinged with a slight Lancashire accent, which was less pronounced in his brother's.

"We hoped he could give us some tips about how to deal with the Dutch – or maybe you can." Paul offered me a cigarette.

"Thank you. I am afraid I am the wrong man to ask. With the exception of Mr Sipkens, I have hardly had contact with people from this country, and from what I gather, Mr Sipkens is no ordinary Dutchman."

"Ah well, he has to be extraordinary, if he can bear to remain with us Britons for so long!"

The brothers shared a hearty laugh.

Paul stabbed his own cigarette onto the railing and then flicked it into the blue waves curling underneath us in the sunlight. "Well, it would be our pleasure if you would be so kind as to introduce us. We are eager for a chance to practice our Dutch, and the crew are too busy to talk."

"Certainly. I fear, however, Mr Sipkens is a rather bohemian soul when the mood strikes him. It is very possible that we will not see him until the evening."

"Ah, I see." John grinned. "We leave him alone, then."

Paul elbowed him. "Look who's there – Mr Peterson."

I turned around to see the man in question stepping on deck. He looked about himself with an air of annoyance, and then began pacing the length of the deck as if he wished merely to stretch his legs and then disappear again.

"Have you spoken to him before?" I asked the two brothers.

"Not so much as spoken to – he merely has the cabin beside our own. A curious fellow. He was pacing all night, and when we came over to ask if he would join us for breakfast this morning, he slammed the door in our face, muttering something about 'work' and 'no time for socialising'."

"And then, when I returned to our cabin to fetch the cigarettes", added Paul, "he confronted me in the hallway and told me to stay away from him – he said, he was not a man to be meddled with. A very disagreeable fellow."

"Yes", said I, "so it seems." I did well remember Holmes's reticence upon my initial scepticism against Mr Peterson, but, hearing about those events, I could not help feeling justified in my opinion about the man. His business was certainly not one he wished to talk about, and it could very well be a criminal one. At the very least, he struck me as a man who was capable of staging a slave trade.

Holmes seemed to consider the crew out to be above suspicion – which was only justified, as they were all Dutch and had no possible interest in bringing a new colony to the British Empire. I could not help wondering, however, whom of the passengers he did suspect. The only person that had struck me as in any way suspicious had been Mr Peterson, but he alone could hardly be the calculating criminal syndicate we had come to stop. True, Mr Carter's conduct had been surprising, but it had, after all, found a simple and entirely innocent explanation.

After some time, I returned to our cabin, where, to my surprise, I found Holmes, lying on his bed, fingers steepled, his eyes closed. "Ah, Watson. What have you discovered?"

"I had assumed you were still in the company of the Dutch couple – they were nowhere to be seen."

"They have retired to their cabin. Apparently, they find us Englishmen to be a bit... repulsive. No, Watson, I did not idle. In fact, I have had a very enlightening conversation with the captain of our vessel, who has been kind enough to allow me to make a sketch of the ship's layout for my own purposes."

"You don't suspect the Fones, then?"

Holmes sat up. "No, I think we can safely exclude them. They are well and truly Dutch, and very grateful that they were able to find such a pleasant retreat for their retirement as the isle in question. They appear to be rather glad to leave the London fog behind."

"I see. What do you intend to do with the plan?"

"After careful consideration, I have reached the conclusion that our criminals have had access to plans of the vessel before. They are by no means secret. It is obvious, then, that they chose the _Friesland _for their purpose because she offers the perfect conditions for their plan. We have to keep in mind that they plan to smuggle a good many people onto the ship, or their ploy would never be believable. I hope to discover which of the many compartments in the interior of this ship they are planning to use, as I do not doubt that they will make preparations on this journey. Now, Watson, what have you been able to discover?"

"Well, I have talked to the Mason brothers. They struck me as honest gentlemen, however, they have reported some very suspicious conduct on the part of Mr Peterson. Apparently, he has been very gruff to them, telling them in rather rough words to keep out of their way.

"I also witnessed a rather curious incident in Ms Farington's cabin. This morning, Mr Carter had an argument with her. She tells me he took offence in the fact that you were rather open in your display of your regard for her – or, at the very least, that she did do nothing about it."

Holmes's eyes sparkled with keen interest. "I take it you believe her?"

"I see no reason not to."

"We must keep an open mind, Watson. Merely because Ms Farington is a member of the fair sex, it does not mean that she is innocent. Some of the gravest offenders I have known were women."  
"Well, then surely the fact that she will leave the ship in Calabar is reason enough for her innocence."

"Ah, yes. That must have slipped my mind."

Knowing Holmes so well, I found that very hard to believe. There was hardly anything that escaped the mind of the great detective, and for him to forget such a vital fact was positively impossible. However, I could not discover any sign on Holmes's face that he had been joking.

"Well, Watson, are you up for another evening in pleasurable – or not so pleasurable – company?"

"Another game of cards during which you continue to turn Ms Farington's head? For heaven's sake, Holmes, she is engaged! I may think Mr Carter's conduct a bit extreme, but is it really necessary to go to such ends merely to gather information? She doesn't even know you are not who you pretend to be."  
"Watson, I must ask you to trust my judgement in that matter as you have so often done before. I cannot explain to you now, but believe me if I say that I do not undertake those actions lightly. Our foe is a formidable one."

"So I have gathered," I remarked dryly.

Holmes gave a short bark of laughter. "Let's go then, my dear fellow, or we will be late for dinner!"

Even though I was now prepared for the transformation of Mr Sherlock Holmes into Mr Stefan Sipkens, it was still remarkable to observe. If any of the criminals we had set out to apprehend did suspect that Sherlock Holmes had been put on their track, it would never have occurred to them to look for the detective in the personage of Mr Sipkens. As much as Holmes enjoyed presenting his line of thought to others and baffling all the world with his deductions, he refrained from doing so now. However, his wit was a sharp as ever, and there were many occasions when his sardonic humour caused a very welcome respite from the intense concentration a card game requires.

Mr Carter had once again joined us, this time in the company of the Mason brothers. Ms Farington, too, participated in the game, however, unlike the evening before, she was now accompanied by Mrs Charles. The lady did, however, not intrude upon our game or conversation, but I had the impression that she was looming over Ms Farington like some ominous shadow.

Mr and Mrs Russell had sent their apologies – apparently, they wished to retire early after the last sleepless night.

I, too, found that the fresh sea air had tired me, and if it had not been for Holmes's insistence that I should accompany him, I would have been happy to return to our cabin.

As the game progressed, Mr Carter seemed to take obvious delight in the fact that Holmes's luck had not prevailed. In fact, I, who was able to take a glimpse at Holmes's cards after I myself had dropped out of the game, knew that Holmes was likely to lose with his hand, but he did not appear to mind. Instead, he once again paid Ms Farington several compliments. To my astonishment, Mr Carter did not intervene.

However, Mr Carter's temper was clearly ruffled by Holmes's behaviour, and when Holmes abandoned his game in favour of the young lady, he rose, bristling with anger. "I have no idea how the customs are in your country, Mr Sipkens, but this is intolerable. This woman is engaged, man! For you to make advances to her in such an obvious fashion befits no gentleman, sir, and no lady to accept them!"

Ms Farington seemed undisturbed. Her chin held high, she met Mr Carter's gaze. "It is none of your business, Mr Carter. If I wish to be chaperoned, I will ask Audrey here. As you can see, she has no objection to such a harmless compliment. I am charmed by your regard, Mr Sipkens. Do not allow Charles Carter to convince you that it is inappropriate."

Carter continued to stare at Holmes, his face red with anger.

Holmes, however, did not move. His face was as impassive as ever, his eyes cold.

"Charles, let it be," said Paul Mason, placing a hand on his colleague's tense fist.

Mr Carter sank back onto his seat. "My apologies, gentlemen, ladies. Sometimes my temper gets the better of me."

"No harm done, I am sure." Ms Farington smiled slightly. "It is rather late, and I think I will retire."

"Allow me to accompany you to your cabin, _Mevrouw_," said Holmes, jumping up from his seat.

Ms Farington allowed him to take her by the arm. "I thank you, Mr Sipkens. Good-night."

Our gathering soon dissipated after their departure and I returned to our own cabin, wondering what Holmes could possibly have gained by provoking Mr Carter in such a manner. I could but assume that he had wished to discover some secret of his, which could well have a bearing upon the case, and hoped that, in his anger, Carter would betray himself. I had, however, been unable to read anything in his behaviour that might indicate his involvement in our case. His outrage merely struck me as having some characteristics of jealousy, which was only understandable – Ms Farington was a beautiful woman, and as far as I had been able to gather, she had been quite taken with Mr Carter before she had been introduced to Holmes.


	6. The Ruse

**VI. The Ruse**

That night, I was roused by a loud argument in the hallway. Sitting up in my bed, I found that the door to our cabin was slightly open and Holmes stood in the doorway, clearly observing what was occurring outside. In some way, he must have noticed that I was awake, and raised a hand to silence me.

The argument, however, had ended, and Holmes carefully closed the door again, before turning to me. "That, Watson, were Mr Carter and Mr Paul Mason. Apparently, Mr Carter has taken my conduct this evening very badly, if the knife in his hand was any indication."

"Good heavens, Holmes!"

"Never fear. As you were able to observe, Paul Mason managed to convince him that threatening me was not worth it."

"That is what they were arguing about?"

"Precisely."

"But why would Carter resort to violence over the honour of a woman who is a complete stranger to him?"

"Watson, have you not observed that Ms Farington is wearing her engagement ring on the wrong hand?"

I tried to cast my mind back, and indeed I had seen, but failed to observe – no doubt Holmes had discovered that fact when he had first kissed the lady's hand.

"Ah, I see you have. Yes, indeed, she is married. I had suspected that Mr Carter was her husband from his reaction on that first evening, and this occurrence now has quite settled the matter."  
"But you said the names on the tickets, the names the passengers have given, and their real ones were one and the same."

"Pshaw, she gave the magistrate her maiden name, of course! It is a simple thing."  
"Then there is no fiancé in Calabar whom she is travelling to meet."

"None."

"But why would they go to such lengths to hide the fact that they are married? They would not have been the only couple on board, after all."

"It is really quite obvious. There is hardly a soul who would suspect a young lady about to be married of criminal conduct, and no ordinary observer would suspect any connection between them, even though they are in fact working very closely together. They had no doubt planned to hide Mrs Carter away in some room in the ship, where she could prepare without disturbance for the arrival of the slaves. If it had not been for Carter's fierce jealousy, I have no doubt that their pretence would have been without fault. It assuredly is with them, Watson, that our suspicions must lie."

"What of Ms Farington's – Mrs Carter's companion, Mrs Charles? Surely she must know of the matter?"

"As of yet, I have too little data to form an opinion about her. But, we must proceed with extreme caution. Mr Carter is clearly no stranger to violence. It was essential to spark his anger in order to prove my point, but we must now see to it that his jealousy is put at ease lest we endanger our own goal. Are you up for a double-handed game against a most cunning adversary, Watson?"

"Certainly!" I cried with some determination.

"Then, I must ask you to manage on your own for one day, as I have been struck down by a sudden bout of seasickness. You must go to Ms Farington and give her Mr Sipkens's regards, telling her that he will refrain from further compliments to her out of fear of Mr Carter. Keep in mind that they must not know that I overheard the little discussion just now. But remember to assure her of Sipkens's very high esteem for her!

"Then, you must go to Carter and find some words of honest apology. It is essential that he should feel as though we did not pose any threat to him. I hope that this sense of security will make him less cautious."

"But what will you do all day?"

"I have the plans here, and I have hopes to know the exact location where they will try to store their extraordinary cargo by to-morrow evening. Then, we will plan our further steps."

The morning broke to a decidedly rough sea and very unpleasant weather. My soul instantly went out to Mrs Russell, who no doubt would suffer the more for the gale.

I have to confess, however, that Holmes's skills for disguise caused me much greater astonishment. He had in the night covered his face with chalk, and appeared now as he lay on his bed to be positively ill. If there had not been no change whatsoever in his manner, I could well have believed that he was indeed suffering from seasickness.

"It this really necessary, Holmes?"

"Quite. There is always the chance that the crew will enquire as to my health, and word spreads quickly on this vessel. Besides, I have no doubt that Mr Carter will endeavour to convince himself of my indisposition. I have to be ready for that eventuality. Do leave now, Watson. You are already late for breakfast."  
Holmes was quite correct, but thankfully my lateness could easily be explained by his sickness. I had to confess, however, that I found the swaying of the ship to be a little trying myself. More often than not a rough wave would interrupt my step and threaten my balance. I was lucky indeed that the gale did not seem to affect my stomach.

Mr Russell was sitting at a table when I stepped into the room. The absence of his wife clearly told me that my concern had been justified.

"Ah, Mr Wilson. Where is your companion?"

"The same as you good wife, I suspect – seasickness."

The unfortunate man sighed. "Is it any surprise with that infernal swaying? The captain has suggested we stay under deck for the time being – apparently, the weather has taken a turn for the worse."

"So it seems. I am really sorry you had so little opportunity to enjoy the cruise so far."

"Oh, Charlotte seemed fine again yesterday evening, but with the rough sea and very little sleep, she did not rise this morning. I have no doubt that some fresh air would do wonders, but with the storm outside... How fares your companion?"

"Well, he is as white as a sheet, and very weak, but I trust he will recover as soon as the storm lets up."

"Don't you wish to be by his side? You seem to be very close friends."

"He sent me away, in fact. As I said, Mr Sipkens has a very solitary streak in him, sometimes. Will you return to your cabin?"

"Yes. I'm sorry I can't be much of a companion, Mr Wilson. But I take it the Mason brothers and Mr Carter are in the smoking room, if you care to join them. Ms Farington I have not seen to-day." With that, he departed, taking a small piece of bread with him, no doubt for his wife to eat.

I quickly finished my breakfast and then made my way to Ms Farington's cabin as per Holmes's instructions. I have to confess, I still found it difficult to believe that she should be a member of the criminal syndicate we had come to stop. If it had not been for Holmes's quite sound deductions, I would still have believed her innocent, but there was no doubt that Holmes was correct. The incident with the ring might have been a coincidence, but Mr Carter's jealousy clearly was more than desire for propriety. If Mr Paul Mason had not stopped him, he might well have attacked Holmes – I could not help wondering if Mason himself knew the real reason for Carter's anger. He had, after all, endeavoured to calm him at the card game, and then again confronted him in front of our cabin in the middle of the night. It seemed to be too outstanding a coincidence.

I had been introduced to them as colleagues in business, and I now began to question the real nature of said business.

If my suspicions were correct, our syndicate already included the two Mason brothers, Mr Carter, Ms Farington and Mrs Charles of questionable loyalty. I dearly wished to talk to Holmes about those points, but he had made it quite clear that he would not share any more information with me than he already had. It was his habit to reveal his theories only at the conclusion of a case, but on this occasion, I should have wished to know more. It would, perhaps, have eased my mind.

Ms Farington, or rather, Mrs Carter, opened the door herself when I knocked. Again, Mrs Charles was not to be seen, even though I could hear her rummaging around in the separated portion of the cabin. "Mr Wilson, what a surprise! Do come in. How is Stefan?"

I was rather surprised by her use of his first name, and could not help but wonder whether they had spent more time together than I was aware.

"Unfortunately not very well, Miss. I'm afraid the turn of the weather for the worse has caused a sudden bout of seasickness. It is for that reason that he sent me to give you his message."

"Yes?"

"He regrets to tell you that he will refrain from further advances to your person, even though he, as well as you, thinks nothing of it. He would merely like to abate Mr Carter's anger. He bade me to ensure you of his very high regard for you."

Ms Farington did not lose her composure, but I could see a certain sadness in the depth of her eyes, which made me wonder whether her friendship with Holmes had been more than a charade for the sake of her disguise. "I saddens me that he could not come here in person to tell me, but please inform Mr Sipkens that the regard is mutual."

"That I will, Miss. I am sure, if it had not been for his sickness, he would not have hesitated to come here."

"I see. Well, thank you, Mr Wilson." Her posture made it clear to me that she wanted me to leave, and so I did. A criminal she might be, but I could not help feeling regret that Holmes had used her so. I could but hope that this new move on Holmes's part did not cause her to do anything rash. I knew well that such a calculating criminal could be a very dangerous adversary when he choose to forgo caution.

However, the wheels had been set in motion, and I could do nothing but fulfil the second part of the task Holmes had placed upon me. As Mr Russell had assumed, Mr Carter was in the smoking room, talking to the Mason brothers, all of them smoking.

Lighting a cigarette for myself, I stepped to their table. "Mr Carter?"

"Yes?"

I was taken aback by the transformation of the man. Whereas he had in Holmes's presence always born a sour and appalling expression, his brilliant smile had now returned. If I had not been witness to his outbursts, I should not have believed any ill from him. "A word in private, if I may."

Carter frowned slightly. "Certainly." Rising, he walked with me to the other end of the room. "Mr Wilson, if you have come to confront me about my behaviour toward you yesterday, I assure you, there is no need. I behaved appallingly, and I wish to apologise."

"So does Mr Sipkens – it is because of his request that I have come to speak to you."

"What, and he couldn't come himself?"

"Unfortunately, he has been struck down by seasickness. He asked me to tell you that he is sorry for his conduct and will refrain from any further advances towards Ms Farington. He wanted me to inform you that he, as a Dutchman, also values the sacred bond between two people highly, and would do nothing to compromise the bond between her and her fiancé."

"Then all is settled! Tell the man I accept his apology. You must think me very old-fashioned to enrage myself so in favour of a complete stranger."

"Not at all. I myself have told Mr Sipkens that it would be best to refrain from such behaviour, unfortunately, I was not very successful. He is a very stubborn man."

"The higher I shall value his apology. Thank you, Mr Wilson. Will you join us at our table?"

"It would be my pleasure, unfortunately I have to return to Mr Sipkens. He is truly not feeling well."

"Of course – the seasickness. Poor man. I hope the weather improves soon."

Upon my return to our cabin, I found Holmes curled up on the bed as if he were indeed sick, but, seeing that it was me, he sat up as soon as I had closed the door. "Well, Watson, how did it go?"

"You look ghastly, Holmes. Are you sure you are quite all right?"

He waved my concern away with a flicker of his hand. "You know my methods, Watson – I am perfectly fine. Tell me, how did Ms Farington react?"

"She seemed truly saddened, and asked me to tell you that the regard was mutual."

Holmes rubbed his hands. "Excellent! And Mr Carter?"

"He accepts your apology. He seemed to be much relaxed and even regretted his harsh words towards me yesterday."

"After you burst into their argument."

"Yes, quite."

"Hm. I wonder what that was about."

"I should have assumed about the fact that his wife did nothing against your advances towards her."

"I wonder... You have been in Ms Farington's cabin?"

"Yes. It is much larger than our own – the bed is separated from view."

"Yes, it would be a first class cabin. Did you see Mrs Charles there?"

"I didn't see her, no – there was someone in the obscured part of the cabin, however. I assumed it was her."

"And yesterday – were you in her cabin then?"

"Yes, but again, I merely heard Mrs Charles."

"Very curious, don't you think? Am I correct that both times you went there without announcement – they didn't expect you?"

"No. What do you infer from it?"

"Nothing, as of yet. But I shall remember the fact. Maybe it will be of some bearing in the future."

"Have you been able to discover anything?" I asked, indicating the plans of the _Friesland _scattered over the table.

"Several things – unfortunately, however, I have not been able to narrow the possibilities down to one."

"What do you want me to do, then?"

"Socialise. Find out what the Mason brothers' relation with Mr Carter is, if you can. And observe Mrs Charles, should she appear."

"Of course."

Holmes smiled. "Our net around the syndicate is closing, Watson. Soon, we will have enough information to apprehend them."


	7. A Medical Man

**VII. A Medical Man**

Unfortunately, my afternoon was less productive than Holmes seemed to have hoped. I did join the Masons and Mr Carter again in the smoking room, but our conversation never so much as touched the subject of business or politics. I did discover, however, that John Mason shared with me a keen interest in sports, having once played rugby much as I had, and I found it difficult to believe that a man so outspoken and honest as he would be involved in a crime that required so much secrecy and scheming.

Also, his relationship with his brother was not as close as I had previously assumed. It particularly surprised me that Paul did not seem to know that his brother was no longer active in the sport. He showed no sign of thinking anything of it, but I did wonder whether it was merely a supreme piece of acting to hide his faux pas. Had I not known that they were brothers by their strong family resemblance, I would have begun to doubt it. It seemed unlikely that both of the brothers were involved in the criminal syndicate, although my impression was hardly enough to be certain.

I accompanied them to the dining room, but then parted from them to join Mr Russell, who was again eating alone. "Your wife is not better?"

"And neither is your friend, I take it? Well, such are the calamities of sea cruises. I suppose it would not be a complete experience without it," Mr Russell said with a wry smile.

"Indeed," I agreed.

During the day, the storm had abated somewhat, but the swaying of the ship was still rather pronounced. As a doctor, I had been called upon to treat seasickness on various occasions, and it would have been no hardship to give Mrs Russell a remedy that would, at the very least, allow her to rest, but for the sake of my disguise, I had previously refrained from offering my help.

Mr Russell poured me a glass of whine. "I have spoken to a crewman, and the bad weather will probably last for another day or two. We have apparently passed the worst of it, but that will be of little help to the seasick, I suspect."

"So I fear. Mr Sipkens is now feeling better, perhaps I can do something to help your wife."

"There is no harm in trying, I suspect. I accept your help gladly, Mr Wilson."

"Then I shall be happy to try."

During my relationship with Holmes, I had learned that it was best to keep the medical essentials close at hand, and as my disguise forbade me to bring my medical bag with me, I had limited my supply to what was the most necessary. Fortunately, I had included a simple herbal remedy I had previously used successfully against seasickness. This, in some foresight, I had been carrying around with me, therefore there was no need to return to our cabin to fetch it. I had my doubts whether Holmes would have condoned my actions, but as a doctor, I could not stand by and watch a person suffer when I had the skill and supplies to help.

I would, of course, have to drop part of my disguise, but since Holmes was certain that the Russells were not involved in the crime, I thought it safe. Hence, I accompanied Mr Russell to his cabin and addressed him earnestly as soon as the door had closed behind us.

"Mr Russell, I fear I have not been entirely honest to you. I am trained in the medical profession and for many a year now hold the title of Doctor of Medicine. I cannot tell you why we found it necessary to keep that fact from everyone, but I must ask you to keep it to yourself. I have here a herbal remedy which should be enough to help you wife – at the very least, it will allow her to rest comfortably. Take it, and speak no more of the matter. It is my pleasure and honour to be of help."

Mr Russell took the small flask from me with an expression full of awe. "You are full of surprises, Mr Wilson. I cannot thank you enough. But I can't accept this offer – surely your friend needs it just as dearly as my wife."

"As I said, Mr Sipkens is already feeling better. Take it. I trust it will serve its purpose."

He wrung me by the hand. "Thank you."

Much relieved for having been able to help, I returned to our cabin. To my surprise, Holmes had stopped his malingering and was dressed in dark clothes as if he were to attend a funeral. His keen expression and the energetic way in which he ushered me into the cabin, however, where enough to tell me that something rather more exciting was on his mind.

"You have found the room, then?"

"So I have. What has kept you for so long – never mind. Change into something that will be inconspicuous in the dark, Watson, and hurry. We have to be there ere our syndicate comes down for their nightly preparations."

"Mr Carter, Ms Farington and the Mason brothers were in the general room when I passed it just now."

"Excellent! Now, do your have your revolver? Good man!"

"Holmes, what are you planning to do?"

"To observe for now, nothing dramatic. But it is best to be prepared. We have to descend to the lower deck. There is a staircase at the end of this corridor. Now, as far as I know, we are the only passengers in third class, there should be no one down here. Still, we have to be on our guard. No, leave the candle, Watson. I know the way."

To my relief, the hallway was still brightly lit, allowing us to reach the bottom of the stairwell with relative ease. Holmes was tense, his eyes gleaming with excitement that boded ill for the criminal syndicate. If he had not given me his word that he would not try to apprehend the criminals this very night, I would have felt rather more anxious. Nevertheless, I kept one hand firmly on my revolver.

"Holmes! I can't see a thing! Won't you light a match?"

"No – if against our expectations some members of the syndicate are already down there, we cannot risk them seeing our light. Here, give me your hand. I should be able to navigate perfectly in the dark."

We were now in the lowest part of the ship, below sea-level. Here the splashing of the waves against the hull sounded dulled, but much more sinister. The _Friesland _creaked around us. Coupled with the darkness, it was a disconcerting atmosphere. Once, the ship shook, throwing us both against the wall. For a frantic moment, I lost contact with Holmes, then he clasped his hand around my wrist once more.

"Watson?" he whispered.

"I am all right."

"We are nearly there. If they have not arrived before us, I will light a match."

There was still utter darkness when Holmes ceased to move. We had been there before them, then. Holmes let go of my hand, there was some rustling when he dug the matches out of his pocket, a sharp sizzle and the little flickering flame of a match illuminated the darkness. Holmes stood beside me, the match held high.

The light did not suffice to illuminate the walls or ceiling of the room we had entered, but it was enough to discern some piping and wooden crates.

"What is this room?"

"A storage, according to the plan the captain showed me. I have been here yesterday – it is mostly empty but for these few crates. They were apparently planning to fill it with goods in Curaçao. Either way, it is enough space for a good many people."

"But it is utterly dark down here!"

"Yes, certainly. We are below sea-level, there are no portholes. Slave trading is not a pleasant business, Watson." Holmes lit another match and walked further into the room. "We shall sit down behind these crates here, and observe. I have no doubt that something will transpire during the course of the night."

"What is this piping?"

"Steam valves and pipes, if I am not much mistaken. Also, perhaps, water for the cabins. I have made a small study of the workings of the ship before we came here. It really is quite interesting." Holmes said down behind the crates, indicating me to do the same.

"Have your revolver at ready, Watson, in case we need it. Now, we have to sit in darkness and wait."


	8. Mr Peterson

**VIII. Mr Peterson**

I do not consider myself a fanciful person, but I have to confess that the minutes, perhaps hours, spent in complete darkness with no sound but the churning of the waves and Holmes's breathing beside my own were enough to set my nerves on edge. As per Holmes's instructions, I did not dare take my hand off my revolver, and yet, there was no sign whatsoever that any person would come down here.

Suddenly, there was a flicker of light, and we ducked down behind the crates. For a moment, I thought our eyes had played a trick on us, then I could feel Holmes move beside me. Suddenly, he struck a match and cried: "Watson, look out!"

Ere I could do so much as jump to my feet, a heavy object connected with the back of my skull and sent me to the ground, my revolver skittering over the floor and out of reach.

Holmes's match flickered out, and I found myself pinned down by a person who was clasping iron handcuffs around my wrist. Still dazed, I failed to struggle, but all too clearly I could hear that Holmes had not yet been incapacitated.

There were the sounds of a fight, a cry that could have been anyone's, then silence.

For a moment, there was no sound, no sign of movement, and I feared the worst.

Then, a flame flickered into life somewhere behind me, growing brighter as a dark lantern was lit.

Holmes was not far from me, equally restrained as I was, blinking against the sudden bright light. His forehead was creased in a frown.

"Mr Wilson and Mr Sipkens. How very interesting." The voice was one I recognised, but it was none of those I would have expected.

Holmes, too, had not failed to recognise the voice even though he, as well as I, had hardly ever heard it before. "Mr Peterson. Interesting indeed. We did not expect you, either. Now, if you would be kind enough to open these handcuffs, I would be happy to explain."

Peterson stepped into view, weighing my revolver in hand. He looked as sullen as ever; however, he carried himself more proudly than I had previously seen. Also, there was a determination in his eyes which he seemed to have previously hidden behind a mask of unfriendliness and ill manners. "I think not. What happened to your accent, Mr Sipkens?"

Holmes said a few sentences in Dutch, which caused our opponent's eyes to widen. Clearly, he had no difficulty understanding what was said while I was lost. Seeing my surprised expression, Holmes said: "I merely told Mr Peterson that I was well aware that he is in reality Detective Inspector C. Peterson of the Dutch police, having disappeared out of the public eye several month ago. I never doubted that he had gone undercover. I considered informing him of our presence when I discovered that he was on the _Friesland_, but I thought it better to work separately, lest one of us might be discovered. I must compliment you on your English, Inspector. There is hardly a trace of an accent."

That was the reason, then, why Holmes had never been suspicious of Mr Peterson.

Peterson squatted down to be on the same level with us. "He called you 'Watson'," he said, looking at me.

Holmes sighed theatrically. "Yes, that was a mistake on my part. I have heard many good things of you, Mr Peterson, of your speed and acuteness. It seems the public rumour was, as ever, mistaken."

Our opponent rose, clearly bristling with anger. "I have heard of your accomplishments, and of your death, but I find the papers failed to mention your arrogance. How is it that you are alive, Mr Holmes, when, by all accounts, you should be dead?"

"The word hasn't travelled further than our own country then. It is as well. Unfortunately, this is no time for stories. Untie us, Inspector, and we shall see what we can make of this night yet."

Peterson opened our handcuffs, allowing Holmes to pull me to my feet. "What brought you here tonight, Inspector?"

"The ship's plans, the same thing that brought you here to-night, no doubt. Are you aware of the political consequences of this case, Mr Holmes? Our failure might just plunge our two countries into war."

"I am aware of it", said Holmes, "now, what will it be, Inspector? Shall we combine forces and work on this case together, or shall we both continue on our own line of investigation?"

"I am no fool, Mr Holmes. I know your skill well. I would be honoured if we were to work together."

"Then together it shall be. I suggest we retire to your cabin, Inspector, and you tell us about all you have discovered, and we will, in turn, share our findings with you. It is early morning by now, and after the light and racket we have produced, it seems unlikely that our criminals will come down here to-night. They have, after all, ample opportunity to do so in the next weeks."

Inspector Peterson's cabin was a single-bedded room in the second class. There was no separate sleeping area, but unlike our own cabin, it had several armchairs and a writing table which provided space for the taking of notes. The inspector seemed to have made good use of that. Every inch of the surface was littered with little scraps of paper, covered by an orderly handwriting, which I assumed to be the inspector's.

I truly had done Holmes an injustice when I had complained about his own notes. I remarked as much, and Holmes grinned impishly. "You must forgive my friend's pawky humour, Inspector," said he.

Mr Peterson shrugged, his sour expression as relaxed as I had ever seen. "No doubt there is much about our profession that must seem odd to an outsider. I find that writing every fact on a different sheet helps me to order my thought. I would much like to compare your methods with mine, Mr Holmes, but I am afraid this is not the time."

"It is not. Well, how far have you progressed in your investigation?"

"As far as the identity of the criminal is concerned, not far. I have observed all passengers in turn, but none – with the exception of yourself – displayed any suspicious conduct. I can see from your smile, Mr Holmes, that you are ahead of me there."

"Slightly, perhaps. But do continue."

"Ah, I should think that I have one over you here. I know you have enquired to see the ship's plan, and no doubt made a copy of it, but I have had access to the official construction plans provided by my government. There is no doubt that the room we just were in is the one in question. It is, in fact, the only storage where it is possible to live for a length of time. The other storage lies under the piping for the hot steam leading to the engine, which causes the air to heat up considerably. It does not affect the cargo, but a living being would need an immense amount of water to survive there for long when the engines are running. Such an amount could not be smuggled onto the _Friesland_ without being noticed at the port of Willemstadt. Therefore, there remains but one choice. I have been monitoring the room ever since I arrived at that conclusion, hoping it might reveal the identity of the criminal I had come to stop."

"I might be able to help you there. In our disguise as Sipkens and Wilson, we have been able to socialise with our fellow passengers. There have been no indications that Mr and Mrs Russell are in any way involved in this matter. Their conduct has been entirely respectable, and Watson assures me that the seasickness of Charlotte Russell is quite real.

"As for the others, I have spoken to the Fones, as, I am sure, have you, and they have no possible interest in expanding the British Empire, or in provoking a war between our two countries.

We have been able to establish, however, that Ms Farington is not all that she seems. In fact, her name is Mrs Carter, and she has for some time been Mr Charles Carter's wife. The fact that they chose to travel separately and conceal their relationships is suggestive. There also seems to be a close association between Mr Carter and Mr Paul Mason. We have not been able to establish John Mason's involvement, nor do we know what role Mrs Charles plays in the matter."

"I see. Then there is still much to do."

"So there is. We should, at the very least, keep a close eye on that storage. I suggest we take turns."

"A wise suggestion. I shall cover the next two nights, as you seem to be in the advantage of being closer to our fellow travellers to uncover more information about them."

I was unsure whether Holmes agreed with that impression. I had been able to observe his excitement earlier, but now as we walked back to our own cabin, he had sunk into a brooding mood, his chin sunk to his chest and his hands clasped behind his back. Knowing that he was deep in thought I dared not interrupt him, even though he would have forgiven me. It was very late, or rather, very early, and while Holmes's face showed no signs of fatigue, I did wish to retire to my bed, simple as it might be, for a few hours. Also, knowing that another detective was working on the case and there to watch our backs, if need be, had set my mind at ease.

At our cabin, I was about to put my revolver back into my valise, when Holmes rose from his stupor and stopped me. "Keep your weapon close at hand, Watson."

"Don't you trust Peterson?"

"Peterson I trust. He is, however, not the only passenger on board. It is unlikely that we have been overheard, but there is the possibility that someone did see the light in the storage, or heard the noise."

"You never told me how you arrived at the conclusion that it was this particular storage."

Holmes smiled briefly. "A trifling matter, Watson, not of much interest. It sets my mind at ease that Peterson agrees, seeing that he has a far more intimate knowledge of this ship. I suggest you retire, Watson. We have to be on our guard once the day breaks!"

Our rest was, naturally, short. Holmes roused me as soon as it was time to breakfast, and we made our way to the dining room. Thankfully, the weather seemed to have improved considerably, and as we passed the general room, we could see the sunlight reflecting on the gentle waves outside. I was grateful for the respite this would bring to Mrs Russell, and it also made Holmes's apparent rapid improvement more credible.

In fact, I delighted to see that the Russells were breakfasting together.

Holmes joined them without hesitation. He was once again transformed into Mr Sipkens, his voice accented and rough when he answered Mr Russell's question about his own sickness. "Much improved, thank you."

"I am relieved the storm has passed," said Mrs Russell, sounding the better for it. "We are going on deck right after breakfast. The air promises to be splendid."

"Then we shall join you."

I was somewhat surprised by this suggestion of Holmes – I had assumed he wished to observe the Masons more closely, or, at the very least, Ms Farington and Mr Carter, not spend many hours in idle conversation with the couple of whom we knew with certainty that they were not involved in the crime.

However, there was no indication that this wasn't precisely what Holmes intended.

Mrs Russell had been correct: the air was fresh, as if cleansed by the rain, and the soft wind carried a mild salty odour. In the brilliant sunlight, we could see as far as the African coast which we had been following for some time now, and, to the other side, the broad expanse of the glimmering Atlantic ocean.

Once, I spotted a ship further out, and could but assume that this was the one Mycroft Holmes had set on our tail, but it disappeared again from view ere I could take a closer look.

Our conversation moved easily from one topic to another, never entirely serious. Mrs Russell showed keen interest in the Dutch culture, of which, much to my surprise, Holmes seemed to have ample knowledge to satisfy her curiosity.

Once, he did excuse himself, but told neither them nor me where he was going. I would much have liked to know, or go with him, but it was clear that Holmes wished me to remain where I was. So, I left the couple's side only to fetch us all something to drink, as it was quite warm in the sunlight. When I returned, Ms Farington had joined the conversation. "Ah, Mr Wilson. How are you?"

"Very well, thank you. I see you have managed to escape your chaperone once more."

She laughed lightly. "Oh, Mrs Charles is no friend of sunlight and fresh air, I am afraid. I think she might have enjoyed it more if we were still in the middle of that storm!"

"What a shame! I could never have remained in our cabin on a day such as this," said Mrs Russell.

I could not but agree with her. Holmes had not yet returned, and I began to wonder what he had planned to do. I knew Holmes to be the most capable and crafty man in criminal investigation, but I was very conscious of the dangers this case presented. In London, it was easy for Holmes to escape into one of his disguises and disappear from view – here, on the _Friesland_, his resources were limited. If anything went wrong, it was likely to be catastrophic.

To my relief, however, Holmes did return to deck an hour later, looking as relaxed as when he had departed.

Ms Farington smiled upon seeing him. "Mr Sipkens. It is good to see that you are feeling better."

"I am much improved," said Holmes. He did return her smile; however, true to his words, made no further signs of his pretended affection for her.

Across the deck, I could observe Mr Carter watching us, but, seeming satisfied with Holmes's conduct, he turned away again, continuing his conversation with Paul Mason. John Mason was not with them, but talking to a member of the crew near the door that led into the interior of the ship.


	9. The Drama Begins

**IX. The Drama Begins**

After some time, our conversation dwindled away to silence, and Holmes indicated to me to follow him back into the interior of the ship. Excusing ourselves from our fellow travellers, we descended the staircase and speedily made our way back to our own cabin. Until the door closed behind us, Holmes had not said another word, but now, he turned to me with a flourish, his forehead creased in an angry frown. "Watson, I deserve to be thrown overboard this very instant!"

"My dear Holmes!"  
"I have committed an incredible blunder, Doctor, that would befit one of the idiots of the official police, rather than myself. I fear that I might have turned this already perilous situation into a perfectly deadly one. I have some doubts whether I should have involved you in this affair, but since we are trapped on this ship, it is hardly possible not to have done so."

"Whatever has happened?"

"Seeing that Mr Farington, Mr Carter and the Masons had joined us on deck, I considered this an excellent opportunity to investigate their quarters. You know I always carry a set of lockpicks with me, and the locks on the cabin doors a very simple to open.

"I took a careful look at the Masons' cabin first. They share one, adjacent to Mr Carter's cabin. Without disturbing their belongings and given I was pressed for time, I was not able to discover anything suspicious. Mr Carter's cabin, unfortunately, was much the same. Either they had planned their ploy entirely without written evidence of it, or it was stored in Ms Farington's cabin, then. It was not improbable – after all, the cabin of a young lady was the less likely one to be searched.

"Consequently, I made my way down there. However, it only occurred to me as I had already tried the door that I had not seen Mrs Charles joining her protégée on deck – clearly, then, she was still in the room, and had no doubt noticed my advance. Of course, I made an immediate retreat, but I fear that I might still have been seen."

"Do you assume she will report to Ms Farington?"

"I wonder if it is not Ms Farington who reports to her, or him."

"Him?"

"Certainly the art of disguise isn't so foreign to you after so many years, Watson? To a skilled actor, it is no great feat – female dress is no stranger to me, either. It is, in fact, the best of disguises. If you are seen, the witnesses report having seen a woman, while you go unsuspected."

"I see. But didn't you say all the passengers bore their real names?"

"Mr and Mrs Charles – it can easily be put down as a simple error, and no doubt that is what was intended. As for Audrey, it is an ambiguous name. It would be easy to verify in harbour, but out on the ocean, such things pass unnoticed. I have underestimated the cunning of our adversary, Watson. If there was ever a time we had to be on our guard during a case, it is now. Take your revolver with you wherever you go, and don't for a moment allow your concentration to slip. Any mistake now might well mean our lives, and those of all the innocents on board."

"Of whom there seem to be few."

"Yes, quite true. We are in the lion's den, Watson, and now we have to see how to tame our lion." Holmes rose, striding up and down in the the confined space of our cabin.

It was clear to me that he would not speak for some time, nor would he wish for me to speak to him, and therefore, I set about leaving our cabin, a safe harbour in the stormy sea of the vessel _Friesland_.

"Do you have your weapon?" Holmes asked suddenly.  
"Yes, I have it right here."

He nodded, and returned to his pacing as if he had never interrupted it.

The corridors were deserted, seeming suddenly to be more threatening than any of the vilest alleys of London. I could not shake the feeling of being trapped on this vessel, with no way to go should matters take a turn for the worst.

Quenching the claustrophobia, I ascended to deck, where most of our fellow travellers were still enjoying the fresh air. Of course, there was nothing suspicious about it. After two days of having to remain in the confined area of the ships interior, we all were feeling glad to be able to feel the wind on our faces.

Ms Farington was still deep in conversation with Mr and Mrs Russell, but in truth, I had little desire to join them. The certainty that the young lady was involved in this horrendous criminal scheme had given her friendly manner an appalling taste.

Mr Peterson, of course, was not present, and with the exception of the Fones who seemed to enjoy their solitude, my choice of company was limited.

However, the matter was taken out of my hand when Ms Farington addressed me. "Mr Wilson – a word in private, if you please."

I did not hesitate to place my hand upon the revolver hidden in my pocket. "Certainly, Miss."

She took me as far as the staircase into the ship's interior. "I was wondering whether you might be able to assist me in a small matter."

"I shall be glad to help – what is it?"

"We would be better advised to discuss it in my cabin. You seem to be without occupation for the moment – I trust it wouldn't inconvenience you?"

I would have liked to have Holmes by my side. However, there was hardly a way out of the matter now. Perhaps I was thinking too much of a trifle, and her request was a perfectly innocent one. There was nothing in her manner to suggest that she had any suspicions against me – it was quite possible that she had not yet spoken to Mrs Charles, or learned of Holmes's attempt to enter her cabin unannounced.

"Of course not," said I.

Ms Farington led me through the deserted corridors to the very door of her cabin, where she stopped and turned to me. "You see, Mrs Russell told me you were able to help her with her seasickness. Oh, do not think ill of her – she kept your secret well, but it was no difficult feat to figure it out, seeing that I had noticed you talking to Mr Russell beforehand. I was hoping you might be able to do something for Mrs Charles. She has not been herself, lately."

"I am not a doctor, Miss. I was merely fortunate that Mr Sipkens kept a simple remedy for his own seasickness, which I then shared with Mrs Russell."

"At any rate, please take a look."

She bustled me into her cabin, closing the door firmly behind us. "Now then, Doctor."

The key turned in the lock, and I tightened my grip on the revolver. She had discovered my real profession, then, but I could not dare ruin all of my disguise, and Holmes's with it, unless I were absolutely certain. "Ms Farington, I assure you, I have no contact whatsoever with the medical profession."

"Of course not", said a voice I had not previously heard, "you are far too busy solving crimes and writing stories, isn't that so, Dr Watson?"

I turned around to find a middle-aged man standing before me. He was younger than Holmes or I, although his face seemed weathered. He was not particularly small, but his sturdy figure caused him to appear smaller that he really was. In fact, the only really distinguishing feature about his person were the blazing eyes and the fact that he wore his hair very long; it reached down below his shoulder blades.

"You don't recognise me, do you?"

"As a matter of fact – Mr Audrey Charles, I presume."

Charles clapped his gigantic hands slowly. "Oh, very well done! I suppose you must have picked something up from the master himself."

"What do you want with me, Charles?"

"You have come here to stop us, haven't you – with this friend of yours, no doubt a Dutch detective."

"Mr Sipkens is nothing of the kind. He is Dutch, yes, but he travels to Curaçao as a businessman. He has received a most generous offer he was willing to share with me."

"I see," said Mr Charles, his gaze downcast. For a moment, I could see the woman he had pretended to be, but as soon as he looked up again, any thought of a peaceful, if sultry chaperon was erased from my mind. "And yet you have clearly looked into the identity of you fellow passengers."

"Why you chose to conceal yourself in such manner is beyond me. I fear it might have raised my curiosity, for which I apologize. I have no quarrel with you, sir, and you secret is safe with me. If you know who I am, you must also now that I have always executed the greatest discretion."

"You accuse me of concealing myself? Look at yourself, man!"

"I thought it best to travel under an alias to avoid the press. Even after three years, they still continue to pester me." I have to confess, I found myself getting rather desperate. It seemed as though Holmes's disguise was still safe, despite the blunder he had feared might ruin our endeavour. My own, however, was inevitably ruined, and I had to take great care not to betray more than was necessary. I had my doubts whether they would allow me to go free, but producing my revolver now would clearly show that this was more than a mere business journey. I had well and truly manoeuvred myself into a _cul-de-sac_.

"Ah, yes. We have heard the most interesting rumours, Doctor."

"Whatever you have heard, the only account of the truth has been published under the title "The Final Problem". Now, sir, cease this interrogation, it is quite inappropriate. I will now return to my own cabin, seeing that you clearly are not in the need of my professional aid."

"I am afraid that won't be possible, Doctor," said Ms Farington, almost apologetic.

Suddenly, a wet cloth was pressed onto my face – chloroform – and I slipped into unconsciousness.

The reader will no doubt have divined from the fact that I have had the opportunity to write up this case that I survived the attack, although the concentration of chloroform was a considerable one. Holmes tells me of a case where the victims were actually killed by chloroform, and I have no doubt that such use, is, in fact, possible, as useful the substance may be as an anaesthetic under controlled administration.

It was, at the very least, sufficient to plunge me into a state of semi-awareness, in which I was unable to struggle as my hands where fastened behind my back and a sack of soft cloth – a laundry bag – was pulled over my head.

I had the impression of being moved, but soon enough, I was dumped somewhere, leaving me in a haze of disorientation. It was a considerable time until the effects of the chloroform lessened to leave me with a pounding headache.

It was dark even beyond the laundry bag, and the air was humid and stale. There were no distinguishing smells, and I could but assume that I had been left in some storage or empty cabin.

As far as I could remember, I had not been searched, and was therefore still in the possession of my weapon, although what possible use it could have to me, alone and bound as I was, was beyond me.

It was only as I tried to gain some footing to sit up that I became aware of the fact that I was by no means alone. Not far away, there was the sound of boots scratching on the floor, and a huff of breath.

While I have not had the misfortune of falling into the hands of our enemies during my military service – something one was unlikely to survive – I had still been trained for the eventuality, and such training is not easily forgotten. Therefore, I instantly ceased my movements at this fraction of a sound. Bound and blinded I might be, but I was hardly unable to defend myself if needs be.

There was a soft jangling sound, then the rustling of clothing. Someone was moving about, keeping out of my reach. Clearly, the person was aware of my presence; it was a mystery to me, however, why he, or she, would move about in absolute darkness rather than lighting a candle.

I twisted to gain a hold of my revolver, and carefully shifted it out of my pocket. If nothing else, it would raise the alarm and scare of any possible attacker.

Apparently, I had not been as silent as I had hoped, for the movements of my companion ceased in an instant.

"My dear Watson, I would be much obliged if you refrained from shooting me."

Never have I been so relieved to hear that cold, calm voice of my dearest friend. The tension seemed to fall of my shoulders at once. "Holmes! Good heavens."

"Yes, quite. I trust they did nothing to harm you, Watson?" Holmes's voice was as impassive as ever, but he was glad, I think, to learn that it was not the case.

He removed the sack from my head and set to work on the handcuffs that bound me. While I could feel his presence behind me, and his nimble fingers working on the cuffs, I could still not see a thing, and neither could he, or it would not have taken so long to relieve me of my bonds.

I had seen him practising with his lock picks on the several sets of handcuffs he kept in a small box among his old case files. Aside from the pair he himself favoured for the arrest of a criminal, none of them posed any challenge when he was in the full command of his faculties.

"Shall I hold a match for you?" I asked Holmes when he sighed in frustration.

"No, there is no need. Besides, I have no matches on me. Other than yourself, our syndicate took the precaution of searching me. I have it." In that instant, the handcuffs came away, jingling as Holmes placed them on the floor.

I sat up and turned to where I assumed he was kneeling. "I can't see a thing."

"That was their intention, I presume," said Holmes.

"And I don't have any matches on me."

"Very unfortunate, Watson, but there is hardly something we can do about it. Our main concern has to be to get out of here, and disappear into hiding. I had hoped we wouldn't be forced to that, but it seems we have to rely on Inspector Peterson as our agent."

"Do they know, then, who you are?" To think that I should have tried so hard to protect my friend's liberty to act for nothing...

"They have their suspicions, I think, but they did not seem to know. I trust you did not tell them anything to harden their suspicions?"

"No, of course not!"

"Well done, Watson, well done."

For a moment, our conversation ceased, and I could not help but wonder if Holmes had taken this failure closer to heart than he would let on. At the very least, we were still alive and capable of some action. Knowing that it set Holmes's mind at ease to display his knowledge, I asked: "Surely we must be in an unused cabin? Our voices do not echo."

"I think not, Watson. This must be the other storage."

"The one with the piping for hot steam?"

"The same. I have been here before, but they must have taken us further into the room. I have not yet been able to try the door."

I would have much liked to enquire how Holmes had been overpowered, as his words clearly indicated that he had not come here by choice, but it was hardly an appropriate questions under the circumstances.

"Well, it is no use to be idle. Come, Watson, we will see how much foresight our criminal syndicate does have."

Once again, we made our way slowly through the darkness. Holmes seemed to know very well where he was going, even though there was not a flicker of light to indicate any obstacles that might be in our way. Suddenly, my hand – outstretched for balance – brushed against a wall, and Holmes stopped.

"As I feared," he murmured slightly to my left.

"The door is locked, then?"

"To our misfortune, Watson, there is not lock on the cargo doors. They are bolted shut on the outside, and from my investigation I was able to gather that they are quite impossible to open from the inside. One wouldn't need to, after all – whatever they are trading, it is hardly going to walk about and try to get out. Of course, it is also perfect to hold slaves without wasting resources on bonds."

"There is no way out, then?"

"None."

It was clear to me that calling for help was out of the question if we wished to remain unnoticed by the syndicate, but I had no wish to just sit in the darkness, and neither, I believe, did Holmes.

"There is one more thing we can try. Hand me your revolver, Watson."

"Surely you are not planning to shoot at the door? The bullet will ricochet, and might it hit anything – or anyone!"

"Nothing quite so foolish, Watson. I do not plan to use the gun in its usual function at all. Peterson was kind enough to allow me to study his detailed plans of the _Friesland_. Do you remember the steam piping?"

"Certainly," said I, relieving myself of my jacket. Dry heat I had learned to withstand during my service, but this humidity was most unwelcome. Holmes showed no sign of equal discomfiture, but then again, I could not see his expression in the darkness.

"Holmes?"

"Over here," he said a few feet ahead.

Suddenly, there was a metallic clank as if something had hit the piping, and then some more. I could but assume that Holmes was clanging the but of my revolver against the piping in what soon became evident was a rhythmic succession.

"Surely this noise will raise the attention of the criminals?"

"If I remember the plans correctly, Watson, this piping leads all the way up to the bridge and the steam vents of the ship. I can but hope that the captain has heard of Mr Morse and his brilliant idea. It has only been in more general use since a few years..."

"What is it?"

"A cry for help, Watson, composed of short and long tones. This code has been in avid discussion of being a possible method of communication for vessels on sea, even though I assume it will be some years yet before it is put to practical use. At any rate, I trust that the tapping alone will alert someone, even if they do not understand the message."

Sherlock Holmes continued the task for quite some time, before he suddenly ceased the tapping and threw down the revolver, settling down next to where I was leaning against a crate. "Well, someone must have heard it by now, or no one will."

"I'm certain they merely need some time to figure out where it came from."

Holmes did not reply, and even though he did not say so, it was clear that he did not share my optimism.

After a while, he jumped back to his feet. "Watson, did you hear it?"

I had heard nothing, and told him so.

Holmes, however, was already hurrying back to where the door must have been, and repeated his knocking on the bulkhead. At that moment, I, too, heard the sound of approaching footsteps.

I had not doubts that Holmes was perfectly capable of distinguishing our fellow passengers by the sounds of their footsteps alone, but such faculty was beyond me. Therefore, I dearly wished to lay my hand on my weapon again, for the fear that it might be a member of the criminal syndicate who had returned for us.

To my relief, however, it was a man I had never seen before, very likely a member of the crew, carrying a small candle and looking at us in some surprise.

To Holmes, he said something in Dutch, to which Holmes replied in kind – from his expression, I could gather that it was some sort of explanation or even apology.

The sailor gave a second candle to Holmes, and then set about closing the bulkhead to the storage again.

Holmes indicated me to follow him down the corridor. "I fear there is no other choice, Watson. We cannot possibly return to our cabin, and the only hiding place I can think of on this ship are the lifeboats. It will be a rather tight space, I fear."

"Never mind that – how will you act while hiding? We cannot possibly allow those criminals to continue. Clearly, they have no scruples in the face of violence, nor do they hesitate to take a life."

"Come now, Watson, we could easily have survived for at least a few days in that storage compartment."

"In that heat? A little less, I think, Holmes."

"At any rate, I have told the crewman to contact Mr Peterson. The crew knows he is working for the government, and it was enough to assure him that we are working with him to ensure cooperation."

"The lifeboats it is, then."

"Yes. This way, Watson."

Holmes led me on deck, but this was apparently an area no passenger usually wandered to.

I could hear shreds of conversation from other parts of the ship, but here, it was perfectly deserted. Night was falling, but after so many hours in utter darkness, I was grateful that the bright sun had already set. Holmes seemed to know the way to the lifeboats quite well, and soon we had arrived at the row of boats, dangling from their holds.

"Well, up you go, Watson. It is fortunate that neither of us suffers from seasickness."

While Holmes held the candle high, I climbed up into the small boat, throwing back the cover that was supposed to protect the boats from rough weather.

Holmes handed me the candle, and then follow me, until we were both seated in the boat. I placed the candle on the floor between us, where its light would not be spotted, and Holmes pulled the cover back in place, forcing both of us to a rather huddled and uncomfortable position.

Holmes shifted around until he was lying curled up on his side, staring into the flickering flame of the candle. "Now we must wait, Watson, and hope that Mr Peterson will manage to contact us. There have been no indications that they suspect him?"

"None. They thought you to be the official Dutch investigator."

"I see... It is as well that we endeavoured to keep my return to London a secret – it gives us the great advantage that the syndicate might underestimate me."

I was surprised at Holmes's sudden optimism. "Surely they have limited our possibilities gravely."

"So they have. But if I were any ordinary man, Watson, I would still be trapped in that storage, handcuffed to the piping and blindfolded."

"To the piping?" I echoed, incredulous, and for the first time, my gaze fell on Holmes's hands.

On the palm of his right hand, there was an angry burn, as well as on the back of his left, where his skin must have touched the searing hot piping.

"Good heavens, Holmes, I have to examine those burns! This is no joking matter – in this environment, think of the risk for infection!"

"It is a trifle, Watson, and we must not occupy ourselves with trifles! No – it is imperative that you stay here."

"I have to fetch my medical bag! I cannot possibly sit by when you might well die from this trifle."

"Then we shall ask Mr Peterson to bring it to us when he arrives. Watson, we cannot risk being seen! Even one of the innocent passengers might unknowingly let something slip, and seriously endanger all of us."

"But surely they will discover our escape soon enough? I cannot imagine they would not come down to check on us."

"By then, I hope to have some evidence as to their involvement in this crime to be committed other than mere theories; enough to justify an arrest. Theories might be well and good for us, Watson, but no official force will be satisfied with our findings."

Even though my every medical instinct protested against this reasoning, I had no choice but to agree. If I were to be seen, it could well mean all our lives. "Very well, then. At least take my handkerchief, to prevent any further dirt from entering the wound."

Holmes took the small piece of cloth and wrapped it around his hand without further comment. I could not help wondering whether he truly was as indifferent to our difficult situation and his injury as he appeared to be. I knew that he never took failure lightly in the past, and while we were not yet at our wits end, our situation was still dire.


	10. Desperate Measures

**X. Desperate Measures**

Holmes seemed to have no intention of speaking to me and so I tried to keep my mind occupied by divining the next steps the criminal syndicate was likely to take. They had, to the best of their belief, removed any threat of exposure by capturing us, and would certainly be less careful and hesitant in their preparations. However, I had to agree with Holmes – merely discovering them in the storage was not evidence enough to convince the official authorities. We would either have to obtain a confession, or discover some written evidence of their plan. I had no doubts that Mr Carter would have been more than willing to share his grand plan when confronted – at least, as long as he believed to have the upper hand – but Mr Charles and Mr Mason seemed to be less impulsive in their actions. If Holmes was correct in giving them as much credit for their cunning as he did, a confession was quite out of the question, and confronting them would likely result in our death. Further evidence it was, then, and that seemed the proposition Holmes was working on. I could not imagine how it must be for him to be forced to inaction, even when it clearly was the best of choices.

It was certainly evident that he had been affected by his inability to do anything when he eagerly sat up at the approaching footsteps of Mr Peterson.

Night had now truly fallen, and it was quite cold on deck. It would have been impertinent, however, not to admire the sea around us, and the brilliant night sky above our heads. In the gloom of London, one hardly ever saw many stars – here, in the middle of the ocean, they seemed to shine the brighter. The waves themselves were illuminated by the moon, giving them a mysterious air. Holmes has often chided me for my love of sea stories, but the scene which presented itself to me now reminded me, just a little, of those romantic tales. I wondered how many men had shared that view with me, and how many, indeed, had found their death in the clear icy depths below us. It was a thought perhaps more fitting to my friend's morbid imagination, but one I failed to dislodge from my mind.

Peterson seemed to be quite agitated. "Mr Holmes, this is a horrible situation! Surely they must suspect me as well?"

"Not all is lost, Inspector. But we have to act quickly. What have you been able to discover in your watch?"

"They did indeed come down", Peterson said, with a smile, "three men. Paul Mason, Charles Carter, and a third, whom I did not recognise. He was not a member of the crew, a stowaway, I suppose."

"None of the kind. His name is Mr Audrey Charles. He has been masquerading as companion to Ms Farington."

Truth be told, I was quite surprised at Holmes's certainty, since I had failed to report my encounter to him. However, I could but assume that Holmes's observations had been sufficient to reach that conclusion.

"Cunning devils!" Peterson's expression was perfectly stormy, his eyes gleaming in the poor light of the candle he had brought. Our own had gone out long ago.

Holmes agreed. "You have not been able to see Ms Farington?"

"No, she was not with them, I am certain of it."

"That is of considerable interest. Well, relate, Mr Peterson! What have you been able to observe?"

"They were discussing on how to set up quarters for a large number of people. Mr Carter did not seem of the opinion that any preparations were necessary at all."

"Yes, he is quite an impulsive fellow. We have to beware of that. What of the others?"

"They agreed that a couple of blankets should be brought down, and also large amounts of drinking water. They appear to have a good many restraints and drugs at hand to quench rebellion."

"Yes, they would need to if they do intend to make their show of slave trade a believable one. It also seems, then, that they are indeed set on abducting several men from Curaçao for their goal. It would be very helpful to our purpose if we were to discover those supplies, Mr Peterson."  
"I realise that, Mr Holmes. I fear, however, that I will have to search Ms Farington's cabin to find them. Surely that is the place they are least likely to be discovered."

"Surely. I trust that your reputation is justified, Inspector, for what I am about to ask you requires the utmost proficiency and skill. If it were not for the circumstances, I would not entrust this task to another, but I have no choice."

"I can confidently say that I do possess the necessary skill, " said Inspector Peterson, considerably disgruntled.

"Excellent. Then you have to see to it that both Ms Farington and her companion are no longer in their cabin. If you can, engage the help of the crew, or Mr and Mrs Russell. Take great care not to raise any suspicion. Once you are confident they are engaged, come back here. Together, we should be able to conduct a search quickly and thoroughly."

"Yes, there seems to be no other choice. We have to put an end to their doings before we reach Curaçao – it would be best if we could hand them to the authorities in Calabar. Very well, then, Mr Holmes. I will do as you say. Good-night."

As soon as Peterson was gone, we huddled back down under the cover, which at least provided some small protection from the cold and the freshening-up wind. In the urgency, I had forgotten to ask Mr Peterson for my medical supplies, but even my medical instincts were put to rest by the perilous hours ahead of us.

"A dangerous move, Holmes."

"Perhaps. However, I freely confess that I see no other choice. If we wish to convict the syndicate, we need evidence enough to convince two, perhaps three governments. Our own government would perhaps believe me, at the very least if Mycroft can be of assistance, but I doubt whether Peterson has equal support. If we allow them to put their plan into action, it will be too late – it would be their word against our own. No, we must act now. I have already searched the cabin of Mr Carter and the Masons, and discovered nothing. The only other possibility is Ms Farington's quarters. You did not seem surprised that her companion is, indeed, a man."

"No, I have seen him when they lured me into their trap. I should have told you."

"Never mind, Watson – but answer me this: did he strike you as being the leader of the operation, or rather a subordinate?"  
"The leader, I should say. Ms Farington hardly said a word throughout the process. Also, he seemed to be quite resourceful in regards to mental faculties. He had not discovered your identity, of course, but he certainly thought you suspicious."

"Obviously."

Holmes lapsed into brooding silence again, leaving me to cower opposite him. I would much have liked to smoke a cigarette, but it would have meant raising the coverlet, and that was quite out of the question. Also, we still had not acquired any matches.

I could not help but wonder how many of the curious mythological creatures of ships and the sea, should they exist, were currently looking down at us and laughing at our desperate plot. At some time, however, my thoughts were carried away by sleep.

I awoke to Holmes shaking me by the shoulder. "It is time, my dear fellow."

The sun had already risen, I should have estimated the time to be somewhere around mid-day. How, under the circumstances, I could have slept so long was beyond me, but Holmes had apparently decided to allow me to rest until all our powers were needed.

Mr Peterson stood on deck below us. "They are all on deck now, and will go directly to dinner. We should have an hour, at least."

"Excellent."

"Did you engage the Russells' help?" asked I.

"I told them that you had asked me to engage Ms Farington and Mrs Charles in conversation, Doctor, without giving a reason. Your name seems to have been enough to ensure their cooperation."

"I have been able to help Mrs Russell with her seasickness."

Together, we made our way to the interior of the _Friesland_, where Holmes took the lead and speedily brought us to Ms Farington's quarters. The hallway, just as Peterson had said, was deserted, much to my relief. Since Holmes himself had already been nearly caught trying to enter the cabin, being seen now would certainly bring our efforts to a violent end. It was certainly not inconsequential, then, to wonder whether there would come a moment in time where we would have to decide whether we were willing to lay down our own lives for the sake of our countries, and justice. For myself, I had long ago made that decision, and I knew well that Holmes was ready to give his life for a greater justice, but there remained the question whether Inspector Peterson, of whom I knew so little, was willing to offer such a sacrifice. Holmes, at least, seemed to have a much better opinion of him than of the policemen in our own country. Peterson struck me as a man who was not used to cases of this enormity, however great his fame in his profession might be.

Holmes tried the door, finding it locked. "Peterson, I hope you are in possession of lock picks, or a key. The one I have with me is quite useless with this kind of lock," he said, with a sigh.

"I'm not a criminal, Holmes, nor a locksmith! Why would I be in possession of burglar's tools?"

"Ah, a narrow-minded official after all. Because, Peterson, in situation as these, they are the tools of our trade, as well. One has to study one's opponent's methods to counteract them. Watson..."

I had already understood what he wished me to do. "Where are they?"

"At the bottom of my valise. You know how to find the secret compartment?"

"Yes."

"Excellent. Then go, Doctor, and be cautious. No one must see you."

I was quite grateful of the fact that I was still in the possession of my revolver. Of course, using it was out of the question – I could not possibly risk the sound of a shot here, where any noise could easily be heard everywhere on the ship. Nevertheless, the familiar feeling of the cold metal in my palm did much to calm my nerves. Never before on any investigation had I felt that so much depended on my actions, not even during the investigation on Dartmoor. There, I had only been an observer, someone to gather the information Holmes needed to draw his conclusion. Now, I was an actor in a much greater scheme, and my failure would result in the end of our investigation, and quite certainly in war for both our countries.

Luckily, no one crossed my path on the way to our third class cabin. Finding the door unlocked, I quickly slipped inside. The view that presented itself to me was quite shocking. Our cabin had clearly been turned upside down. I had to assume that it was in part the result of Holmes's own capture. My companion was a formidable fighter and surely would not have been overpowered easily, even when taken by surprise.

Nevertheless, I doubted that a fight had been the reason why both our valises had been emptied, their contents searched and scattered over the floor. I could but be grateful that Holmes had insisted that we kept nothing by the way of identification with us.

My medical supplies were compromising in themselves, of course, but the syndicate had, after all, already learned of my true identity.

Of Holmes's belongings, I could see a neat pile of a pipe, a box of matches and his pocket watch placed on the table. Our papers had been examined, but none seemed to be missing – our notes, as Holmes had no doubt intended, being taken down as mere nonsensical letters to test a pen.

Gathering up some medical supplies in the process, I found Holmes's valise and opened it. He had shown me the secret compartment at its bottom ere we had departed from Baker Street. It was where he had hidden the letter to the Curaçao government, and also a leather bundle, in which he kept his various lock picks.

My way back was only slightly more adventurous, as I nearly crossed paths with Mr Fones, who seemed to be on his way back to his cabin from the smoking room. However, I had heard his footsteps in time to prevent an encounter which would certainly have raised questions, even though the Fones were not associated with the criminal syndicate.

Holmes and Inspector Peterson were waiting for me where I had left them, Peterson looking much more anxious than before. "For Heaven's sake, Holmes, we have no time for this nonsense! We should have broken down the door fifteen minutes ago."

"And risk the noise, much less the fact that it will immediately be noticed once the criminals return? No, Inspector." Holmes took the lock picks from me and speedily picked the right one before he set to work.

As a doctor, it would have been impermissible not to notice that his work was impaired by the injury to his hand, but even though I was now in the possession of the supplies I needed to treat him, the urgency of the situation forbade me to mention such a thing.

It was not long until the door opened with an audible click, and Holmes ushered all of us into the empty cabin. Nothing seemed changed from when I had last seen it, and to my eyes, there was no obvious sign of the cabin being used by criminals as a storage. However, we had yet to enter the hind part of the cabin.

Holmes showed no hesitation in doing so. "Watson, the wardrobe. Peterson, under the bed. I will look at this desk here. We have to hurry, gentlemen. We have half an hour at the most, which means we should have found what we are searching for in fifteen."

None of us did hesitate to carry out Holmes's instructions, even though it was evident to me that Peterson did not take it lightly to be ordered around.

I opened the wardrobe, half expecting to discover a pile of blankets, but finding nothing but women's clothing. There was one male suit at the far end of the wardrobe, which I assumed to be the one Mr Charles had been wearing when confronting me. "Nothing here, Holmes, merely clothes. All female save one."

"Leave it. Continue your search," replied Holmes, who was applying his lock picks to a small desk drawer.

"Several blankets down here", said Peterson, "we are on the right track."

"No written correspondence so far, Peterson! We need something more than clothes and blankets to convince our governments, I think. Ah, as I had thought. Tools for disguises."

I joined Holmes at the table, scanning the documents in feverish haste. Nothing seemed to be in any way implicating.

"Anything, Watson?"

"No."

"We have five minutes, Mr Holmes."

"A secret compartment, then! Surely these first class cabins are equipped with a safe," cried Holmes, promptly throwing himself down on the floor, examining every inch of it, while the two of us set about to examine the walls.

"They are, but the compartments are not marked on the construction plans. Also, they are not big."

"Enough to store some papers."

"Holmes! Our time is up."

"We cannot possibly leave now, not until we know where to find what we have come here for. Such an opportunity might never present itself again!"  
I have never been so conscious of the passing of every single minute, as at that moment. Each one caused our search to become more frantic. It was, of course, unlikely that Ms Farington or Mr Charles should return to the cabin at one hour precisely, but it was quite possible also that they would return early.

In fact, a sudden sound caused all of us to freeze in our tracks. If I have ever seen Holmes defeated, it was in that moment. I doubted whether the fact was visible to anyone who knew him only in passing, but to me, the implication of the calm way in which he returned the lock picks to his coat pocket and stepped to my side was painfully obvious. Peterson seemed to be quite ruffled, and in anger, he was about crash his hand down against the wall, but Holmes stopped him with a wave of his hand.

Behind the blind, which we had thankfully put back in place, someone entered the room, the door closing again behind them. Holmes would no doubt have been able to tell me who they were by the sound of their steps alone, but forced to silence, I could only wait until they spoke. 


	11. Hostage

**XI. Hostage**

"This is getting tiresome, Susan."

"It was your choice. We could easily have rid ourselves of John Mason, and put you in his place. However, you insisted that he come. He has been an obstacle to Paul all along."

"Patience, my dear. Trust me when I tell you that he has his purpose. We are not alone." With that, the blind was pulled back and Mr Charles stood before us, his weapon at ready.

"What a surprise. I thought I had put you two away. And Mr Peterson, too! What is your involvement in this affair, Dutchman?"

Peterson clearly bristled with anger, but he said nothing.

"Susan, fetch the others. I think we have much to discuss."

Ms Farington turned to leave, her gaze for a moment meeting Holmes's before the door closed again behind her.

Mr Charles shifted his weight. "We might as well introduce ourselves while we wait. I have no doubt that you know who I am. I wonder, Dr Watson, whether you lied to me." His gun shifted around to aim straight at Holmes.

"Mr Sipkens, indeed. I rather doubt it."

"What do you plan to do with us?" snapped Peterson. "Surely you are not going to add murder to your list of charges!"

"Ah, an official then, are you, Peterson? I should have known. No, I have no wish to kill you, but I cannot allow you to interfere in our work. Apparently, my previous measures have not been enough. However, I shall see what my companions have to say on the matter."

As if on cue, the door opened to reveal Mr Paul Mason, accompanied by Ms Farington.

Mason stared at us in a mixture of hatred and surprise. "It is true, then."

"Did you doubt it? I told you, if the government has gotten wind of us, they will send the best they have to offer. How disappointing to see they have failed. You've had a stroke of bad luck, lately, Mr Holmes, have you? Dying is no trifling matter, after all. I suppose it leaves oneself quite weakened."

If Holmes was in any way troubled by the words, he did not show it. "I think, Mr Charles, it is clear to both of us that I did not die."

"Evidently. Where is Charles?"

Mason suddenly looked uncomfortable. "There is something we should discuss, Audrey. In private."

"What is it? Speak up, man!"

"The captain has stopped the engines. We are adrift."

"Why?!"

"We have no idea. Charles has gone up to investigate," said Ms Farington.

"And you let him go alone? Fools! Paul, go up there immediately! Maybe you can yet prevent the worst!"  
Mason immediately turned on his heels. Charles looked back at us, his eyes ablaze with fury. "What have you done?"  
"I gave instructions to the captain not to continue our journey if I failed to meet him at the appointed time. Clearly, it was a wise decision."

"Do you realise what that means, Dutchman?!"

Holmes took it upon himself to answer. "You and I both know, Mr Charles, that it is already too late."

"You can't know that!"

"I am familiar with Mr Carter's impulsive behaviour, Mr Charles."

"My husband is no murderer!" cried Ms Farington.

"Isn't he? Aren't you all? Surely plunging two, or even three countries into war is an equivalent of murder? Just think of the soldiers on both sides who will die in the conflict."

"Don't say anything", Charles interrupted, apparently having calmed himself, "he is trying to get a confession. With two witnesses, it would have some weight before a jury. We will find some way to reach our goal yet. Bind them. And make sure to relieve Mr Holmes of his lock picks, and Dr Watson of his revolver."

Ms Farington, as I will continue to call her to avoid confusion, took the handcuffs she was offered and moved to fasten our hands behind our backs one by one, before she made a quick search of our pockets, emptying them of all contents. It saddened me to see beyond doubt that she did indeed work for and with the criminals. I could not help but wonder what had causes such a charming young lady to become entangled with a man like Mr Charles Carter, and whether her life would not have been a happier one if she had never met him.

After she took the set of lock picks from Holmes's pockets, she lingered for a moment, and I could have sworn Holmes whispered something to her, but even I, who stood right by his side, could not make out his words.

She glanced at my companion, and then returned silently to Mr Charles's side.

He waved his gun at us, pocketing mine. "Gentlemen, if you please. We will go to the bridge."

The bridge was a horrifying sight. Members of the crew stood huddled together in one corner, their captain lying shot on the floor. The unfortunate man was clearly dead, a bullet having penetrated his skull. Paul Mason was already there, arguing loudly with Mr Carter.

Even I, with only limited faculties of deduction, could divine what had transpired. Clearly, Ms Farington had been mistaken in underestimating her husband's temper.

Holmes did not seem in the least surprised. I was certain that he had already known what Carter's reaction to the captain's refusal to continue the journey would be ere he had seen the premonition in Mr Charles's eyes.

The man himself was certainly less than pleased. "You idiot! Now you have endangered everything! How do you suppose we could remain inconspicuous at Calabar with a murdered man at our hands!"  
"We throw him overboard. Surely someone here is able to steer the ship. You! Tell them!" Carter grabbed Peterson's shirt-front, shaking the inspector violently.

The gasp of his wife passed as unnoticed, but Holmes and I both had heard it, and as we exchanged a glance, I saw definite purpose in Holmes's eyes. He had a plan, then, and I doubted he would allow for any failure this time.

Peterson spluttered out a few words in Dutch, and the crew, clearly shaken, set about their work again. Carter dropped the inspector, turning to Charles, whose face was red with anger. "Don't look like that, Audrey! If we want to achieve our goal, we can't continue to behave like chickens!"

"You were not to take action until we reached Curaçao. I allowed the capture of those gentlemen because they were endangering our mission. Now you have jeopardized everything!"

"It's nonsense, and you know it. We get rid of the body, and no one will ever know."

"They know! They've all seen it! Charles, your impulsiveness is going to be your downfall, someday."

"Not today, Paul, and not in the near future, if I have any say in it. Untie the high and mighty inspector and his companion, Susan, and see to it that they take care of the body. And you, Audrey, find the passengers and all of the crew who is not essential to the workings of this ship and gather them in one room. If I read Mr Holmes correctly, he will not risk the life of so many innocents, will you, Holmes?"

If Mr Charles had any further misgivings about this exchange in leadership, he did not voice them, and neither did one of the others. Audrey Charles handed Ms Farington my revolver. "As soon as they are finished, take them to the general room."

She opened the handcuffs that held Holmes and myself, indicating the corpse.

"Holmes?"

"Do as they say."


	12. Courage and Compassion

**XII. Courage and Compassion**

Together, we picked up the remains of the unfortunate captain, taking him out onto the deck. As soon as we were out of earshot, Holmes gave a wince of pain, which causes both of us to let go of the body. I was at his side in an instant, despite the gun still trained on both of us. Ms Farington advanced carefully. "What is the matter?"

"I apologize", said Holmes, "it seems Dr Watson was correct and the injury to my hand is graver than I thought."

"What injury?" To my other astonishment, Ms Farington grabbed hold of Holmes's wrist in a rather unladylike fashion, unwrapping the handkerchief.

I have to confess that, for a moment, I too was startled by the severity of the burn. In the poor light of a single candle, the injury had not appeared to be as grave.

Ms Farington, too, seemed quite affected by the sight. "What happened?"

Holmes shook her off. "Your associates considered it wise to bind me to a hot piping," he said. He spoke unusually harshly, and I could see Ms Farington flinch. I could but assume that there was a purpose to Holmes's actions, and I dearly hoped that he was able to achieve it.

To my surprise, Ms Farington looked at me. "How bad is it, Dr Watson?"

"Quite serious. I would have treated it, but there was no time. I can't say how bad it is without examining the area properly, but there is a definite risk of infection in this environment, particularly of sepsis."

"Then leave the body. Treat him. I still have your supplies – here."

For a small moment, I saw Holmes's eyes gleam in triumph, but it disappeared so quickly that I was convinced I had been mistaken.

Beside the supplies I had so hastily packed, I also took my handkerchief back, to my horror finding it covered in blood. Holmes's hand looked equally bloodied – a second degree burn then, although I could not see any blisters.

Ms Farington must have seen the horror on my face. "What is it?"

"I should have examined it more carefully when I first noticed it. It is much graver than I originally thought. Holmes, you do realise that such a burn is likely to leave scarring? It must be immensely painful."

"I suggest, Watson, you make your examination a quick one."

"I need fresh water to clean away the blood and dirt."

"Then we will go to the general room. I am sure I will be able to find some water for you, Doctor, as long as Audrey is watching over you." Ms Farington motioned us to walk in front of her, but her behaviour seemed much altered, her forehead creased in a frown of doubt.

It had no doubt been Holmes's goal to touch upon her confusion regarding her husband's cruelty and her compassion, of which, I, too, was certain that it was genuine. I merely wished the it could have been without the risk to Holmes's own health.

As per Mr Carter's instructions, all our fellow travellers had been gathered in the general room, sitting at the tables while Audrey Charles stood in the doorway, watching them carefully. He stepped aside to allow us to enter, nodding briefly to Ms Farington. She did not acknowledge his greeting.

Mr Russell jumped up as soon as he saw us. "Mr Wilson, Mr Sipkens, what is happening?"

Charles glared at him, and Henry Russell sank back onto his side, taking the hand of his wife.

Ms Farington had departed again, hopefully fetching some water. I had not noticed before, but now, Holmes was keeping his injured hand close to his chest, as if to protect it.

We joined the Russells.

"I am afraid, Mr Russell, we cannot tell you at this moment", said Holmes, in his usual tone, "it would be best for you all to do nothing which might provoke a harsh reaction in our captors."

Mrs Russell stared at him, open-mouthed. "But..."

"Ah, yes, we have not been properly introduced. Sherlock Holmes, Madame, and this is my friend and colleague, Dr Watson."

"What, the detective?"

"The same."

"We apologize for deceiving you, but it was quite necessary," added I.

At that same moment, Paul and John Mason entered the room. John was sporting an impressive black eye, and was being held at gunpoint. Clearly, then, he was not involved in the criminal syndicate, nothing but a puppet in the hands of the criminals. In the middle of the room, he once again turned, his hands raised plaintively. "Brother..."

Paul Mason merely grunted and stalked out of the room again.

For a moment, John stood rooted to the spot, as if unsure what do to with himself, then he walked away, staring out of the small windows. I had no doubt that for him, the blow had been a heavy one. My own relationship with my brother had never been ideal, but I could still imagine the pain such a betrayal must have caused, and so, I think, could my companions. A hushed silence had sunk over the room, interrupted only by an uncomfortable clearing of a throat.

When Ms Farington returned, she found herself faced with several harsh glares, which clearly caused her to falter. Holmes's face, too, was earnest, and he did not offer his thanks when she sat down a bowl of water beside him.

"Anything else I can do, Doctor?"

"No, under the circumstances there is nothing more. Thank you."

"Susan! Get back to the bridge. Your husband is on the verge of doing something even more reckless."

Ms Farington looked back at Mr Charles, then at Holmes, who kept avoiding her gaze. With a sigh, she turned away from us and left the room.

"You needn't be so harsh on the young lady, Holmes," said I while I was dipping a clean cloth into the water and starting to wash the blood away.

"She is a criminal, Watson. Not of the common variety, I give you that, but a criminal nonetheless. She does not more deserve my respect than any of those we have put to prison in the past years. So far, I see no reason to admire her for being, at least, particularly cunning."

"That is unfair of you. Without her kindness, you could well die from this injury."

To my surprise, Holmes pulled his hand away as soon as I got anywhere near the centre of the burn, that angry red area in the palm of his hand. It was clear to me that such a burn had to sting; however, it was imperative that the wound should be cleaned, and I told Holmes so.

"Leave it, Watson. You do trust me, don't you?"

"On criminal matters, certainly. When it comes to medicine, however..."

Holmes silenced me with a wave of his hand.

Naturally, I obeyed his command, although I could not fathom why he would wish me to be silent, as I had noticed no change in our companions and adversary.

However, as silence fell over the room, we could all hear what Holmes had somehow noticed before – gunshots, reverberating on the ship's hull, and rendering the silence in the general room a deadly one. Never before had I been so conscious of the danger.

Mrs Russell was clutching her husband's arm in a white-knuckled grip, her face stricken with horror. I could not begin to imagine how much this situation affected our fellow passengers. During my association with Holmes, and aided to no small degree by my own profession and military training, I was able to face the situation with outward calm, although I could not ban the dread entirely from my mind. The captain's murder did quite prohibit any sense of safety.

Audrey Charles, too, looked slightly worried out into the hallway, obviously reluctant to leave the passengers to their own devices, especially, I suspect, as long as Mr Sherlock Holmes was among them, but clearly rattled by the implications of the shots coupled with Mr Carter's explosive temper.

When the rapid staccato of hurried footsteps sounded in the hallway, Charles abandoned all precaution and rushed out to meet his colleague. A hushed argument followed, and when Charles came back in, he looked stricken. "Dr Watson, you services are needed."

If he had asked anything else, I would have hesitated to do anything to aid the criminals, or at the very least enquired as to the reasons. However, I could not refuse any man my medical assistance.

Holmes rose with me, but at his movement, Charles raised the gun. "Just the Doctor, Holmes."

If Holmes felt any misgivings about my going alone, he did not say so, but sank back onto his seat, watching the criminal with the same calculating gaze with which he scrutinized any of his clients. Having been subjected to it in the past, I knew that Holmes's great mind was at work behind his inscrutable expression. I would have much wished to know his plans, but any communication to that effect was, of course, impossible, as long as any one of the criminals was watching over us.

Ms Farington was waiting for me in the hallway. Her charming face was marred by an expression of such horror that my first inclination was to rush to her side and offer some comfort, but remembering that she was associated with the criminal syndicate responsible for this bloodshed, I refrained from doing so.

She had been a remarkably confident and independent woman when she was first introduced to me – one who was not afraid to laugh, or too concerned about what people might think of her conduct. Seeing her now, I should not have believed I was facing the same person. Ms Farington was pale, quiet and subdued, no trace of her cheerfulness remaining in her face. She was taking me to the bridge without saying a word, but suddenly, not far from the door behind which I assumed my patient, she stopped and turned to me, defiance sparkling in her eyes.

"Take your gun back, Dr Watson. I have no wish to possess it, and certainly no desire to use it. I trust it is in good hand with Mr Holmes and yourself."

To my astonishment, she offered me not only my revolver, but also the black leather pouch with Holmes's lock picks. Rather to startled to respond, I took the items and hid them in my inner coat pocket.

"I trust you will make good use of them. Now, your patient." Ms Farington strode ahead, her posture proud and her chin held high, as if a great weight had been taken from her shoulders. Her decision to give me the items had been a heavy one, but, as far as I could gather, she was convinced to have done the right thing. I, too, was certain that if any of the criminal syndicate was likely to help us, it was her. The others might be horrified by Mr Carter's conduct, but in the face of their goal, they seemed to look past it – his conduct, however, might well have cost Carter the loyalty and support of his own wife.

The bridge was a sorry sight. There was still blood on the floor where the unfortunate captain had fallen, but now, there was also a trail of fresh blood on the nearby wall, under which, clutching his arm and shivering with shock, sat Mr Peterson. Carter still had his gun trained on him.

I am certainly no stranger to violence, but such senseless bloodshed roused my temper. It would have been easy to take control, now that I was once again in the possession of my revolver, but I feared what might happen to my fellow passengers, and Mr Sherlock Holmes, if I attempted anything.

Instead, I knelt by Peterson's side, carefully removing the torn fabric from the wound. The bullet had passed through his upper arm, narrowly missing an artery. He had been lucky, but the loss of blood was a great one, and I had no doubt that he would suffer from an infection. For now, I could do nothing but stop the bleeding and bandage the wound, and try to abate the shock.

"He needs some water."

"Susan! Get some."

Our of the corner of my eye, I had seen Ms Farington flinch at the harsh bellow of her husband, but she quickly hurried away, her small shoes clicking on the hallway floor.

Peterson seemed to be drifting in and out of consciousness, unaware of his surroundings. Shock seemed to be the gravest danger at the moment, and I tried my best to keep the inspector awake with my ministrations.

"Why did you shoot him?"

Charles Carter stared at me as if I had insulted him. Clearly, I had to tread very carefully if I wished to learn the story from him.

"Why?!" he snapped, startling the crew, who were still trying to go about their business, the gaze of each man haunted by the violence they had witnessed.

"What happened to cause you to harm him?"

"It's none of your business."

Conscious of the enormous responsibility Ms Farington had placed upon me by trusting me to bring my revolver and the lock picks safely back to Sherlock Holmes, I did not enquire further, but focussed all my attention on Mr Peterson.

Even when I was finished with my treatment, Carter would not allow me to take Peterson down to the general room with me. However, as I tried to make Peterson comfortable, I heard the low murmur of hushed conversation behind me, and upon turning, found Ms Farington had approached her husband.

"Why would I do that?"

"Don't you think the Dutch government will miss their agent? An injury might come by chance, a death will raise suspicion."

"Very well. Go then, Doctor. I will send Susan to fetch you in two hours."

Ms Farington did not speak to me as she accompanied me down to the general room. However, the closer we came, the more tense she appeared, and I was suddenly filled with a sense of dread. Should it be that shooting Peterson had been nothing but a cruel hoax, to separate Holmes and myself? Had my dear friend suspected it and had therefore tried to accompany me? No harm had come to me, but what of Mr Sherlock Holmes?

Quickening my pace, I pushed past Mr Charles and Mr Mason. Half I suspected to see Holmes sitting right where I had left him, scoffing over my worry – however, he was not there. I was so dazed by it that, for a moment, I stood still and scanned every face in the room twice, thinking, perhaps, that he had once again disguised himself so effectively that even I, who had known him for so many years, failed to recognise him. Sadly, my efforts were to no avail.

The reader might imagine my horror. We had, during this case alone, been in many a dangerous situation during which we might well have been killed, but I had not imagined that Holmes would simply disappear.

"What happened?" asked I, addressing no one in particular.

Mrs Russell was now sobbing openly, her husband seemingly torn between trying to comfort her and anger at the criminals. The Fones, as always, avoided my gaze, but Mr John Mason stepped towards me.

"They took him."

I was not sure what to make of that, and I said so. Paul Mason sneered at me. "Well, we couldn't allow him to stay on board, surely you realise that? If he were to go to the authorities on Calabar, his word would be valued highly. I am no murderer, Doctor, but Mr Holmes could not be allowed to reach Calabar with us."

"They placed him in a lifeboat and set him adrift," said John Mason, his tone solemn, "Mr Holmes protested that he was unable to swim, but that did not deter them. They handcuffed him and led him away."

The thought was a terrifying one. To think of my dear friend set adrift on the rough Atlantic ocean, with no means to steer the small vessel, no food and no protection from the chill and wetness turned me cold and sick. It was a death sentence, even though I had no means of corroborating Holmes's claim of being unable to swim – how curious indeed that during all our adventures, we should never have made use of such a skill.

What use was now the revolver and the set of lock picks? I could not single-handedly face three able bodied men, not even armed, and even though John Mason might have been willing to jump to my aide, he would not do harm to his own brother.

Slowly, I walked over to the windows, both threatening and hoping to catch a glimpse of Holmes's small vessel, dancing away on the waves. Some kind Providence might yet interfere to save his life, as it had so many times before now, although, I feared, to late to prevent the war which was now certain to come over our countries.

Holmes had taken the papers of our own government with him on his hopeless odyssey, and even with the help of Mycroft Holmes, I would not be able to convince any of the officials of the truth of my words – they would rather write my protest off as the deluded ravings of a madman, who believed his friend had been resurrected from the dead. I could but hope that the criminal syndicate would refrain from spilling any more blood of those innocent people with whom we were travelling.

I performed my medical duty towards Inspector Peterson with the greatest care, but my thoughts were with Holmes. It was only when Ms Farington allowed me on deck to catch some fresh air, that my thoughts began to clear, and I tried to think of how my good friend would have expected me to act. Surely it could not have been his wish for me to give up, even should some tragedy befall him. We had both boarded the _Friesland _in the knowledge of the danger, and in the conviction that it was worth our lives, if necessary, to prevent a war that might well plunge not only the two countries directly involved, but the whole world into a war. Holmes was, or had been, the world's foremost champion for justice, and I could not claim to be worthy to take his place, or to bring the same skill and determination to the task as he had, but, having been denied a final conversation, I could but try to bring to a successful conclusion the case which had brought us to this point.


End file.
